


Suddenly, This Defeat

by Stale_Cinnamon_Roll



Series: Mithridatism [6]
Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: 10k-centric, AU - Altered 10k Backstory, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Set during EP106, With how thirsty 10k has gotten you'd think there was a drought...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll/pseuds/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll
Summary: 10k finds himself more and more distracted by Murphy, his missed opportunity back at the motel his greatest source of irritation. That is until they reach their destination - a compound known as Provincetown where they are ordered to disarm.Without his weapons - his rifle! - 10k may as well be naked. But at Garnett's reassurance that they'll be safe, that the kid can trust him, that the Sergeant will always have his back...Well, 10k complies.Sort of.
Relationships: 10K/Murphy (Z Nation)
Series: Mithridatism [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442032
Comments: 113
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Garnett unleashes his inner father.
> 
> Then, 10k admires the garden.
> 
> Finally, Cassandra spies a stallion.

_A little inhumanity does not describe you as heartless, rather, it is a way of telling others that you have a heart that can get angry._

_\-- Michael Bassey Johnson_

“Why did you sign up?”

“With the National guard?”

“Yeah.”

10k yanks on his knife, his fingers slick with enough dark blood to make the handle slip from his grasp. He sighs, little more than a gentle puff of air, as he weighs up his options, a luxury that it isn’t usually peaceful enough for him to afford. He could stand on the Z, use his weight to anchor it down as he pulls the knife from its head. But… that would be rude, right? Not to the Z, but rather to the human that it used to be.

He sighs again, louder this time, his hands reaching up to rub at his eyes, before freezing. They’re… not exactly clean. Probably best to not get Z blood on his face, if he can avoid it.

With a lick of his lips, he instead stares down at the Z, his knife still stuck in its head. This isn’t the kind of thing he’d usually hesitate about. Or think about. Or even _care_ about. He’d just dig his boot in and yank, retrieving his blade and moving on as swiftly as possible. Heck, he’d done it only a few short months ago. The Z had been old, its flesh sloughing off and clinging to his boot. Had taken ages to clean, to scrub away the rotten skin, to pick off tangled hair…

But it’s different now.

 _He’s_ different now.

Thanks to Garnett.

10k casts his eyes around the kitchen, searching for something – a dish cloth, a paper towel, anything – with which to wipe down his hands. And there’s nothing. This house had been picked clean long ago, that much had been obvious the moment they’d set foot inside. Hadn’t stopped Garnett from opening every cupboard and peeking into every closet, though, the hope not once leaving the man’s eyes as they roved from one room to the next.

But this house has nothing for them to eat, just like this kitchen has nothing that could clean his hands. And 10k can’t wipe the blood off on his pants – he didn’t have a spare pair and Murphy always turns his nose up at the kid if he gets too gory…

With the sounding of a soft groan and the creak of a floorboard, the time for 10k’s deliberation is over. Kicking the Z flat on the floor, he braces a boot across its neck before stooping low and yanking the knife free. The kid is upright and two paces back just as Garnett strolls out of the pantry, dusting off his knees.

“There are loads of reasons people do, kid. Patriotism, thrill-seeking, wanting to see the world… Others don’t have many prospects and need a steady paycheck or want to study without being saddled with debt.” The Sergeant leans against the kitchen table, scratching at his beard with a forced casualness. “As for me personally, I grew up in a small town, the same one my parents did. Their parents, too. It wasn’t a bad place, exactly, but it was a better town to be _from_. Signing up was the cheapest ticket out.”

10k licks at his lips, turning the sullied knife over in his hands. “How long did you work for them? For the Government.”

“Eight years, two months, five days.” Garnett smiles, the warmth softening his eyes as he pulls a rag from his pocket and offering it to 10k. “Not the kind of thing you forget.”

The kid takes it without a word, turning towards the sink. Not that the taps would give any water, the pipes long run dry. But it means that he wouldn’t have to look at the man as he wipes at his stained fingers before starting on the knife. Because 10k knows all about keeping track of things. Things you cannot forget.

Number of Zs killed: two thousand, one hundred and sixty-two.

Days Tommy had known Jeff: four hundred and seventy-one.

Days he’d spent living as Ten Thousand: one thousand, one hundred and twenty-three.

It’s odd, though. He doesn’t know how long he’s been 10k. Hadn’t even thought of keeping track. Hadn’t felt the need to. But, if the kid had to hazard a guess, he’d probably say that it’ll be the same number as the days since he’d met Garnett.

He turns back to face the kitchen, prompted by the clearing of a throat. The Sergeant is watching him, lips pressed thin and eyes searching. 10k knows that look; he’s seen it enough times on the man. Garnett wants to ask something but is hesitating, the words left rolling around on his tongue, unsure how his question will be taken. But the kid had asked the man something personal, so it’s only fair he gets to ask something in return.

10k sheaths his knife.

A small smile graces Garnett’s face: gentle, affectionate, hopeful. “What was your hometown like? Was it nice?”

“Dunno.”

“You… don’t know? What it was like or… or where you were born?”

The kid shrugs. “Pa didn’t talk about the past. Made him sad.”

“Well… where did you live, then? What was that like?”

“Forests. Mountains. Wherever had suitable terrain. Enough game.”

Garnett looks away, his jaw tight as he runs a hand through brown curls. The Sergeant is worried, the lines of his face deepening with concern. And 10k doesn’t blame him. He knows how… how strange his childhood was. He knows that most people would be unable to understand. Which is why he usually keeps it to himself. Why he’s only ever told one person up ‘til now.

“So, were you in hiding? From the Government?” Garnett’s eyes are glued to the table, his hand scratching at his beard again, though this time it’s more from worry.

The kid swallows, his throat thick. Has he fracked up? Has he said too much? Garnett _did_ work for them, after all. Heck, he’s on a mission for them even now, transporting Murphy across the country during the _Apocalypse_! Is the Sergeant still one of them? Pa had said not to trust anyone, even now. That some would remain loyal…

But Garnett is a good person, right? He’s trying to help Murphy make a cure. He’s trying to save what’s left of humanity. And he’d taken the kid in, a stranger he knew nothing about. A stranger that could have jeopardised his mission. A stranger that was planning on robbing him…

Garnett had trusted Ten Thousand so shouldn’t 10k return the favour?

“Yes.”

The Sergeant’s head lifts, surprise flashing across his eyes. Not from what the kid had said, but rather that his question hadn’t been evaded. “Do you know why? Why your father thought you should hide?”

“So they wouldn’t…” 10k falters, seeking comfort in blue silk and reassurance in blue eyes. Garnett’s eyes. They’re encouraging him, urging him on, like they hold a promise. One to listen. To try and understand. “…Wouldn’t find me.”

“ _You_? He thought that they were after _you_ … Did he ever say why?”

10k shakes his head. “Just that they killed my mother. Tried to keep me from them. That’s why we hid. Was gonna tell me more when I was older, but…”

They both shift, their eyes falling on the dead Z. The one that had followed them in from the garden, that had been hidden in the rhododendrons. These fracking Zs had spoiled a lot of things for everyone. Murphy had volunteered for the search for a cure instead of serving the remainder of his sentence. Garnett had lost his family instead of finding a house with space for a studio. And 10k? He’d lost Jeff and their lazy days on the riverbank. Lost Pa and the promise of knowing who he really was.

While everyone had lost their futures, 10k had also lost his past.

Beside him, Garnett shifts, moving to sit on the edge of the kitchen table. Sliding his rifle off, 10k lays it down across the wooden top before perching next to the man. The window is in front of them, the glass sparsely streaked with dust as it overlooks the overgrown garden. Just passed that tangled green jungle is their truck, parked just beyond the rhododendrons, Doc and Murphy idling in the bed. Almost noon, the sun is glaring down from above, ricocheting off the truck’s paintwork, making 10k’s eyes sting as he watches the two men. But he doesn’t look away despite how much he knows he should. Because Murphy is smirking, his lips twisted with over-confidence, his eyes gleaming with arrogance.

10k wants nothing more than to wipe that look off his face.

Back at that motel, it should have worked. He should have finally gotten what he’s been longing for. They were freshly bathed, they were alone, and they had a fracking _bed_. But most important of all? Murphy hadn’t shied away. Hadn’t turned him down. No – the handsome, arrogant man had _touched him back_ , those large, rough hands feeling better against his skin than 10k had imagined.

Murphy had let himself be vulnerable. He’d let 10k slink in close. Had almost let him kiss him. 10k had finally been about to get a _real_ taste of that arrogant man. He’d been planning on waiting a bit longer, on letting Murphy be the one to make the first move, but the mood had just been so perfect.

And it’s been _so long_.

So long since 10k has felt the scrape of stubble against his skin, felt the grip of strong hands on his hips, felt the burn of muscles overexerted.

So long since he’s had the pleasure of seeing arrogance slide off a man’s face, seeing their bravado melt away as they realise that this was never about them. Never _for_ them. That this is 10k’s game, that he makes the rules, and that he always wins. And then they slowly start to submit, to follow his command, to give him what he wants so that he’ll allow them their own release.

And to think, he’d almost had _Murphy_ , the most arrogant man he’s ever been fortunate enough to meet. He had been so close, too. So close to having the man willingly surrender control. To then drag blunt nails down that broad back. Scrape sharp teeth along that stubbled throat…

But he’d messed it up. Had lost his chance to his anger. An opportunity he’s unlikely to have again any time soon. And now, he’s been left once more with only old memories and new fantasies to warm his nights as he spends his days trying not to–

Not to think about _this_. Not with how it affects him, that familiar heat coiling low in his abdomen, that uncomfortable tightness that soon follows.

10k takes a slow, deep breath as he shifts his gaze, pulling away from that blinding gleam and instead finding something duller to focus on. Something safer to think about. Something that rests in the shade so he can rest his eyes.

The rhododendron.

Left to its own devices, the shrub has spread wide, escaping the garden that had once confined it. Under the fence it has crept, its root system forcing its way outwards, killing off the competition and devouring any and all land it had seen fit claim. Whorls of dark green leaves reach out, cradling clusters of flowers, soft pink and bell-shaped.

Wait. Bell-shaped? Not funnelled?

A sigh breaks his thoughts, pulling him back to the kitchen. Back to Garnett.

“Look, Ten, I… We don’t know what danger your father thought you were in, and I don’t think we ever will, but… But I do understand _why_ he did what he did. I know that he was doing what he thought was best to protect you. I know that because he’s your father, and I’m a father, too.” Garnett is still staring out the kitchen window, face strained and mouth downturned as he watches Addy and Cassandra wander up to the truck, empty handed. “Or… _was_ a father…”

The kid shifts along the table, drawing closer to the man. One hand, now clean, drifts up, the fingers stopping just short of tracing Garnett’s arm. A few times now the Sergeant has gripped 10k’s shoulder or patted his back, a gesture both familiar and comforting. But the kid isn’t sure he’s able to pull it off himself, to reassure the man with a simple touch.

Instead, he lets his hand drop, choosing to try words, to echo something Garnett had once said to him. “Wanna talk? I can listen.”

The Sergeant’s smile is fond, but the sadness underneath is still raw enough to bleed through. “I couldn’t protect them. Amy and the kids. Never even got a chance to try. When we got overwhelmed and the Zs broke through, I was trapped three states away. All I wanted was to protect them, but I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t even there…”

Despite the way he smiles, how he holds hope for the future, Garnett’s pain is still swirling within him, and it likely always will be. The regret, too. And the guilt. 10k feels the same thing, though he’s not sure it can ever fade away, this kind of pain that courses through him with every heartbeat. That’s why 10k – no, _Ten Thousand_ – had chosen instead to feel nothing at all.

Garnett feels this pain, has carried it just as along, but he hadn’t chosen to close off, had he? No, he’d chosen to keep living. To keep _loving_.

10k has already changed so much in the days since he’d met Garnett. Days that have changed him for the better. Days that he never kept track of. Days that, one day, might make him want to love again, too.

But one step at a time.

First, he’ll have to heal.

“Didn’t protect him. Jeff. Knew where he was but didn’t go. Not ‘til after Pa died. But it was… _I_ was too late.” Garnett is looking at him, that much 10k knows. But he can’t meet his eye. Not right now. Instead, he slumps to the side, his head dropping against the man’s shoulder as he twists fingers into silk. “Wanted to go find him Day One but… But Pa didn’t know.”

“About your boyfriend?”

The kid nods. “And that I’m… That I’m…”

His mouth goes dry, the words sticking in his throat as if to choke to him. He can’t say it. Even after all these years, after everything he’s done, he still can’t _fracking_ say it. One word; three letters: g-a-y. But try as he might, it never comes. He clams up, fifteen years old again, his dying pa pleading with him to open up one last time. But he can’t, can he? He stays quiet. Says nothing.

The men he’s been with? He never had to tell them. They knew. They _understood_. Because at some point in their own lives, they’d felt it, too. The desire for privacy; the need for discretion; the fear of rejection.

Of hatred.

Violence.

10k squeezes his eyes tight, a hollow mimicry of when he still had tears to shed. “Always thought Pa’d be the first I tell. Doesn’t feel right, tryna say it…”

Garnett’s arm circles around the kid’s back, gripping his shoulder and pulling him closer. And 10k leans in. The man is solid, warm, _safe_. “Don’t worry about it, Ten. You’ll be ready one day. Until then, remember that I’ve always got your back, and that you can talk to me about anything. Even, ah… that kind of thing.”

 _He’s a good person, Garnett. Even if he_ did _used to work for the Government._

Looking back, 10k almost finds it ridiculous how he’d once been so unsettled by this man, been so wary. He’s kind and encouraging, protective of his family, and even willing to try and understand the kid and his… issues. As much as 10k is grateful for that willingness, for how the man is able to ease out these shards of pain then start to soothe wounds, he’s not sure Garnett would be entirely comfortable hearing 10k complain about the current dire state his love life is in. The kid is pretty certain that if he ever lets slip how going so long without getting laid has led his eyes to keep drifting towards Murphy, his mind now easily distracted by how such a tempting prey that arrogant man has made himself out to be…

Well, 10k is positive that Garnett will personally see to it that he’s never left alone with Murphy at any point from here to fracking California!

When it comes to _that_ kind of conversation, he’s much better off sticking with Cassandra.

Their comfortable silence can only be left to draw on for so long. Soon, Garnett rises from the table, still gazing out the window as he waits for 10k to grab his rifle and follow suit, the man’s face all soft eyes and handsome smile. Because Warren has come into view, marching her way to the truck with Mack trailing closely behind.

_Warren…_

Cassandra had told 10k about how she’d heard the woman sneaking out of their room at the motel, thinking her to be asleep. About the giggles and hushed whispers before Warren had slipped back in some time later. And about the smiles shared with Garnett over breakfast.

_Maybe that’s how I can repay Garnett…_

As they weave their way back through the house and into the yard, 10k schools his face, slipping effortlessly into an old favourite: innocent with just a hint of obliviousness. Just because he’s helping the man out doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun.

“Need condoms?”

Garnett freezes, brows pulling in with confusion. “W-what?”

“Condoms. For when you’re, y’know… With Warren.”

As the Sergeant’s confusion now turns to shock, 10k fights hard to keep a grin from creeping its way across his lips.

“How did you…?” Garnett runs a hand down his face, pressing gently into his eyes before scratching at his beard. “…Fuck. Who else knows?”

10k doesn’t answer, instead ducking his head as he digs into his pack, searching for the condoms he knows are stashed away somewhere. He doesn’t have many of them but it’s all he has to offer. Not like the Sergeant smokes…

Garnett eyes the foil packets before gingerly accepting the gifts, slipping them away into a pocket. “Suppose I should just be glad you’ve been safe about it… You sure I can have these? They can be hard to come by.”

“Don’t need ‘em right now.” The kid has to duck his head down again, the flash of relief in Garnett’s eyes finally breaking his façade, that grin sliding sharply into place. Yeah, he’s definitely sticking with Cassandra…

Side by side they stride, turning the corner and onto the street, picking their way along the fence overrun by the rhododendron. Garnett is a good person, a kind leader, and 10k’s glad that the man’s family had found him and taken him in. Glad that he himself had decided to stay, that he hadn’t stolen from them or… or hurt anyone. But the thing he’s the gladdest about is that, despite everything he knows about the kid, Garnett had still found a way to accept him. To care.

“Garnett?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

The Sergeant brings a hand up, ruffling 10k’s hair affectionately. “No need.”

They skirt around the edge of the rhododendron, the truck coming into sight, Garnett’s family smiling at them as they approach.

“Oh, and Ten? You can call me Charlie, if you like.”

As they trudge over the weeds, 10k slows, peering closer at the rhododendron. He was right – the flowers _are_ bell-shaped. With the soft pink of the petals and the dark, leathery green of the leaves, that would make this–

“ _…Rhododendron macrophyllum_?”

But it can’t be, right? It’s a coastal shrub, native far west of here. Even before the Apocalypse, this rhododendron would have been hard to care for, too high maintenance to be worth trying to grow in Missouri. And after the Zs? It shouldn’t have had a chance. Yet, here it is, not only fending for itself after years in an inhospitable landscape but… but managing to _thrive_.

10k reaches out, tenderly tracing along a delicate pink flower, careful to not touch any pollen. Because the pollen is poisonous. Heck, _every_ part of this plant is. Any who eat it will feel pain, will drool and vomit, will lose control of their body as the poison takes them over, restricting their breathing, slowing their heart…

He’d seen them enough – been _drawn_ to them enough – for Pa to warn him over and over. The kid knows that he should look but not touch; that nothing good can come from getting too close. But despite all the warnings, despite knowing how outright _toxic_ it can be, with how utterly beautiful he’s always found this plant, 10k just can’t help but love it.

Pulling back from the rhododendron, 10k makes his own way to the truck, watching the Sergeant as he arrives ahead of him. The man’s face always lights up when he nears his loved ones, and he makes sure to greet everyone as he arrives. He even greets Murphy today, though the handsome man pointedly ignores him, choosing instead to oversee 10k’s own approach. His family safely at his side, the Sergeant turns to seek out the kid, eyes brimming with a warmth that 10k had almost forgotten could exist in this world.

Sure, the kid may not be ready for love. Heck, he may not even be ready to fully open up. But one thing that he’s starting to believe he _is_ ready for is finding a new home.

And once he’s found it?

Well, maybe then he’ll be able to tell Gar–

…To tell _Charlie_ what he wasn’t able to tell Pa.

~*~*~

Cassandra must admit that Murphy isn’t looking too good. The man’s skin is dry and ashen, his eyes sunken and dull, and the slow return growth of his beard is flecked with more grey hairs than she remembers being there before.

Garnett had pulled the truck over for a much-needed restroom break, the group taking it in turns to wade into the field and take care of business. So, here they are, all crowded around the back of the truck and staring at Murphy’s back as he takes his sweet time in the grass. Usually Cassandra would try and allow the man a bit more privacy but, well, he’s _really_ not looking his best right now. And they can all see it.

Or… _most_ of them can.

Perching next to her on the back of truck bed in that adorable way of his, 10k’s idle stare at the man is gentler than that of the others, his face showing none of the concern they are all feeling. And with what she knows of her friend, Cassandra is pretty certain she knows why: when it comes to Murphy, it’s not exactly been 10k’s _head_ doing the thinking lately…

“No Zs in sight.” Mack starts to reach for the side of truck bed, intending to pull himself up, but drops his hands once he realises that Cassandra, currently tucked in behind 10k, is in his way. His eyes flickering towards the kid, his lips tugging downwards, Mack instead circles around those crowded around at the end of the truck until he’s standing underneath Addy.

The blond, seeing that 10k had failed to do his usual and rather habitual sweep of the horizon when they first pulled over, had taken it upon himself to check the area. He hadn’t bothered to hide his disdain for the kid’s laxer attitude, either, throwing Ten quite a few dirty looks as he made a show of taking over the duty. Not that 10k had noticed, what with his eyes rarely leaving Murphy as the man had shuffled back and forth across the road, waiting his turn in the grass.

Doc clears his throat, deciding to be the one to finally say what they’re all likely thinking. “Anybody else worried about Mr Sunshine out there?”

Pulling off from where he’s leaning against the bed, his shoulder brushing 10k’s knee as he shifts, Garnett crosses his arms. “I know. He’s looking worse…”

That makes 10k frown, his eyes drifting from Murphy to instead rest on the back of Garnett’s head.

Warren snorts. “Yeah, he was pretty creepy to start with.”

Ten’s frown only deepens, his eye narrow and brows low as he switches his attention over to her.

Obviously noticing the kid’s disapproval at their words, Addy captures Cassandra’s attention before rolling her eyes. “Come on, guys. Give him a break. It’s the Apocalypse. Not of us look our best, y’know. It’s like one long bad hair day.”

Below her, Mack crosses his own arms, considering. “Speaking of hair, what’s with all the bald patches?”

That’s something that Cassandra herself has been wondering. Sure, all the nicks and cuts have healed neatly, thanks to 10k helping the man keep them clean, but the hair? As it had started to grow back, unlike his beard, the hair on his head is sparser, duller, with spots not even growing at all. With how important Murphy is to Garnett’s mission, and the fact that nothing pumped into him in the prison experiments had been adequately tested first, the sudden appearance of these bald patches certainly is a worry.

Cassandra shifts closer to Ten, listing sideways to bump her head down on his shoulder. “Maybe that vaccine is like zombie chemo.”

Turning his eyes – and frown – back towards Murphy, Ten absently scratches at the back of his neck. “That why he shaved? Liked the beard…”

Lifting her head up from Ten’s shoulder, Cassandra only just catches the sidelong glance Garnett sends the kid’s way. And, boy, is she glad she did! Because it’s the look of a man desperately wanting to refuse to let himself be resigned to his fate; the look of a man who reluctantly released his child into the world to make their own mistakes and immediately regretted doing so; the look of a man who would gladly sell his own soul for some shaving cream and a pack of razors.

In the field, Murphy throws his head over his shoulder. Catching them all watching him on his bathroom break, the man stares back at them, clearly unimpressed with this lack of privacy. They all quickly glance away, pretending to be looking at anything else.

Clambering fully into the bed, Cassandra stands, turning around completely to gaze along the horizon, her eyes lingering on a horse in the distance, its head stooped low as it feeds. Thinking it’ll distract her friend and spare Garnett from developing an ulcer or two, she goes to nudge 10k only to find him still staring, gloved fingers still rubbing at his neck, eyes still lingering on Murphy, though thankfully the man in the grass has turned his back on them once more.

Leaning closer in towards Doc – or further away from Ten, Cassandra isn’t sure – Garnett keeps his voice low, his hushed words only just reaching her ears. “What do you think, Doc?”

The old guy shakes his head. “I’ve seen Zs look better than him.”

Finally, 10k manages to tear his eyes from Murphy, his gloved hand falling into his lap, concern seeping into grey eyes as he listens in.

Garnett continues, not noticing the kid behind him. “Will he make it California?”

“If we haul ass.”

Cassandra slips her hand over Ten’s, trying to pull her friend away from the conversation, but he holds firm.

“If he goes zombie, we might have to put him down.”

“Dibs on piking him.”

Warren’s interjection is immediate, her voice holding no trace of hesitancy or warmth.

10k twists his hand in Cassandra’s, gripping tightly as his eyes darken, his lip curls, and a short growl creeps out from behind barred teeth. But Garnett doesn’t hear it. Only Cassandra does, a fact she’s instantly grateful for.

With a sigh, one that’s heavy and marred with a despondent finality, Garnett shakes his head. “If he turns, piking him’s the least of our problems.”

Rubbing at Ten’s fingers to ease the tension, Cassandra then shifts their grip into something less desperate. Something more relaxed and casual. Because she agrees with Garnett. Without Murphy, there would be no chance at finding a cure. Without Murphy, there is no need for them to continue their journey to California.

She rubs her thumb along Ten’s fingers, skirting around the fraying edge of his gloves. The warmth, the rough skin, the unassuming human contact… it’s all a comfort to her. And she needs comfort now more than ever.

Because she knows that, without Murphy, there’ll be one less reason for 10k to stay.

His business now finished, Murphy turns to find them all staring at him once again. “What?”

With a nod to Warren and Doc, Garnett starts his way into the field, ready to take his turn. “Pit stop’s almost over. We need to get moving.”

Stomping his way back to the road, Murphy passes Garnett before casting a rather irritated look over those still watching him from the truck.

“I have a ginormous–”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as they fix themselves on 10k, taking in the kid’s raised brows, his amused grey eyes, and the hint of a smirk only barely held back.

“ _Bladder._ ”

Garnett glances back towards the truck, curious at Murphy’s stilted speech, just as Cassandra tugs again at 10k, finally managing to pull him towards the edge of the bed. Something has happened between Ten and Murphy, she’s _certain_ , and she wants to find out what.

She keeps a loose hold on her friend’s hand, guiding him around to the relative seclusion of the front of the truck, Warren flashing them a smile as they go. Leaning against the hood, Cassandra knows the very moment Ten spots the grazing horse, his face lighting up, smile innocent and bright.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah. Don’t think it’s zombified, either.”

Hopping up onto the hood, 10k perches on the edge in that adorably predictable way of his. “What kind?”

“Erm… A brown one?”

With a snort of laughter, he shoots her a lopsided grin as he pulls his rifle from his back and swings it up to aim.

“Wait–”

“Just checking.”

And just check he does, simply peering through his scope at the horse, finger nowhere near the trigger. Cassandra made sure to keep watch.

“Normal. Pretty healthy, too.” He lowers his rifle, slipping it comfortably into place on his back.

“Do you think it escaped from a farm or ranch somewhere?”

Ten shakes his head. “Mustang, so, y’know… Wild.”

“No, I _wouldn’t_ know, Ten, because I was never a ‘horse girl’. Didn’t see the appeal of riding.”

As Ten inexplicably glances back towards Murphy, Cassandra decides to, too. The man has his arms crossed defensively over his chest as he talks to Doc. Looking up to see them watching him, Murphy sends them a scowl. One without any heat.

Knowing that the man he’s guarding – or checking out – is safe, Ten turns back to idly watching the horse.

_Well, it’s now or never…_

Cassandra tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, deciding to just come out with it rather than beat around the bush. “So, about Murphy. Is he, well… _big_?”

From the sidelong glance he gives her, Ten clearly isn’t as enthused with her line of questioning as she is. “Nothing’s happened.”

“Oh, come on, Ten. You can tell me!”

He stays quiet.

“Then what about at the river? While you were all gloriously naked and bathing? Are you _seriously_ gonna tell me you didn’t sneak a peek? I know _I_ would’ve.”

Ten’s eyes flit over to Murphy again, his tongue flickering out to lick at his lips as a smile tugs at the corner.

“Oh my god, you did!” She gasps, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth. “ _He is_!”

And he stays stubbornly silent, facing the distant mustang as he tries his best to hide his own amusement, his smile growing traitorously wider as he pretends to ignore her.

Well, two can play at this game.

“So _that’s_ why you called him ‘daddy’…”

10k’s barely concealed pleasure melts away, leaving behind a mixture of disgust and embarrassment that Cassandra cannot help but find _delightful_. Back at the motel, when he had said it? Oh, god, that was the funniest thing she’d seen in _years_! Once Addy’s little game had come out into the open and Garnett no longer looked like he wanted to strangle Murphy, Cassandra had made sure to personally thank the mischievous redhead. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d grinned like that – her face had ached all day!

But the best bit? Once they were on the road again, Cassandra comfortably bundled up in the truck bed with 10k and Doc, the kid’s curiosity just couldn’t be held back anymore. He usually sits on something for a bit longer – sometimes even over a week – but she is _so_ glad he hadn’t. His question had been directed at Doc, too, the old guy only able to blanch before turning desperate and pleading eyes on Cassandra.

And that was a baton she’d more than gladly accepted.

Cassandra had explained _exactly_ what 10k had said, granting no mercy as she laced her answer with as much detail as possible, not bothering to hold back her amusement as Doc squirmed and the kid paled in dawning horror. She’d known from the very moment that that word had danced obliviously through 10k’s parted lips that he had absolutely _no idea_ what it was he was saying. Of course, she’d know. A guy like Ten wouldn’t exactly be so _submissive_.

“Man, I sure could use some of them Kansas City barbecue ribs about now.”

At Doc’s voice, 10k slides off the hood, getting ready to clamber back into his seat.

Murphy smirks over to Cassandra as the man gracelessly heaves himself up into the truck bed. “How about you, darlin’? You’re a big rib eater, aren’t you?”

She just rolls her eyes, ignoring the man. After all, she’s not the one who’s going to be riding with him in the bed. Pulling in close to Ten’s side, she loops her arm around his and drops her voice low. “You know, with that kind of arrogance, he _must_ have something to back it up. So, out with it, Ten. How big we talking?”

They start a leisurely amble down the side of the road, working their way towards the back door of the truck. Mack yanks it open and clambers inside as Addy smiles over at Cassandra, offering her a seat.

10k slips his arm from her grasp, sidling behind her. Bumping his head down onto the top of hers, he murmurs gently into her hair as his hand shifts low on her back to urge her towards the open door.

“…Not as big as Mack…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story comes from the poem of the same name by Jack Gilbert.
> 
> Ya ever get an annoying song stuck in your head? This chapter would have been finished much quicker if I didn't have that stupid Baked Potato song playing on loop somewhere in the back of my mind. There was No. Way. I could write 10k and Cassandra's conversation while my brain chimes in with "Thank you, Baked Potato~" every ten seconds...
> 
> And if you've never had the (mis)fortune of hearing the stupid song, it can be found here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYOkgCkxj9I
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, and I'll see you in the next chapter!
> 
> <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Doc thinks Murphy is an ass, so he tries to lighten the mood by talking about ribs.

“Man, I sure could use some of them Kansas City barbecue ribs about now.”

Sliding down into the corner of the truck bed, Doc glances over at Murphy as the man hauls his ass up next to him. That guy really ain’t looking too good, somewhere in between rotten and mouldy if the faint smell lingering on his clothes is anything to go on. They have no idea what’s happening to him or whether they’ll get him to California in time, a fact that isn’t lost on anyone, so Doc had recently decided to make it his job to keep everyone’s spirits up as best he can. Even Murphy’s.

“How about you, darlin’? You’re a big rib eater, aren’t you?”

Not that he’s been making it easy for Doc… The Apocalypse may have brought out the worst in some people but from what he’s seen, the old guy is sure that Murphy was just as much of an ass pre-Z.

Thankfully, Cassandra takes the higher road, ignoring the man’s comment in favour of tucking herself into 10k’s side, a sweet smile on her face as she whispers to the kid. And that makes Murphy scowl, though whether it’s at how he was so artfully ignored or because Cassandra has once taken stolen 10k’s attention away from the man, Doc isn’t sure.

What he is sure of, though, is that if Murphy’s infantile behaviour starts to interfere with the kid’s relationship with Cassandra, then Doc will have no choice but to step in. It could even do 10k some good to put some distance between him and Murphy, anyway – the man isn’t exactly the best influence…

Both men watch from the truck bed as 10k’s arm slips from Cassandra’s, as the kid’s hand lingers low on her back, and as he whispers into her hair. Whispers something that makes the young woman blush. And Doc smiles. With how distant and standoffish the kid was when they first met at that school, the old man never dreamed he’ll get to witness this, especially so soon. There has always been something so much more beautiful about the blossoms of a first love.

“It’s not what you think, y’know. Between those two.” Murphy smirks in that arrogant way of his – the one that would have taken a lot longer than three years to perfect. “So, don’t bother getting your hopes up for some sappy romance with a dash of puppy love.”

“Oh, come on, man. It’s obvious he likes her.”

“Yeah, he _does_ like her. Just not in the way you’re thinking.” Glancing over to see that the kid making his way to the bed, Murphy drops his voice. “What _should_ be obvious, Doc, is that she ain’t _manly_ enough for him…”

And there it is. Another gay joke. With a deep sigh, Doc rubs his hands down his face. Because he knows there is nothing he can do. They’ve talked about this, him and Garnett and Warren. They know why Murphy’s doing it, and they decided that they won’t take the bait. Reacting to such childish pettiness is _exactly_ what the man wants. So, they’re going to do everything they can to _not_ react. To not encourage the behaviour. To not let Murphy win.

Doesn’t mean Doc has to like it, though. Because what if 10k had actually been gay? Murphy wouldn’t exactly be fostering a supportive environment for the kid, so he’d _never_ feel comfortable enough to be himself around them. And what about poor Addy, huh? There’s a reason she’s only out to a few people, Doc included, and that reason is people like Murphy.

Once 10k has gracefully sprung up into the truck bed and taken his seat, legs splayed wide with his rifle draped across his thighs, the engine roars to life and the truck returns to its dutiful slog towards California.

This road is as monotonous as the last, yet another streak of grey through dull green, the occasional branching path stretching out over the horizon the only evidence they were making any headway. With so little to see there isn’t much to distract Doc from the clawing pangs in his stomach. How long has it been since they’ve eaten? Two days? Man, it seems like longer. And he’d been doing well, too, not thinking about food.

Until they’d stopped by that sign…

Kansas City barbecue ribs, with their sweet and spicy rub, their thick and sticky sauce… How their meat is tender enough to pull apart with your fingers…

There is something so primal about eating meat off the bone, something that really takes people back to their roots. A gathering of family and friends, crowded around the grill, eating together, their mouths as sticky as their hands. Ribs fill your heart as much as they fill your stomach.

“You ever had Kansas City barbecue ribs, kid?”

Tearing his eyes from the road, 10k shakes his head.

“You’re not missing out on much, Princess, trust me. Not only are they way too messy to eat with any decorum, you’re also gnawing on a bone like some sort of rabid fucking animal.” With a grimace, Murphy tugs his jacket tighter around himself. “And after finding myself on the other side of _that_ particular buffet, I’m even _less_ enthusiastic than I used to be…”

As 10k’s brows dipped low with worry, Doc searches for something else to say, to not let this ruin the light mood he’s trying to make. “What was your favourite way to eat meat, then, Murphy? Quite fond of burnt ends, myself. All soft and smoky. And when all the flavour oozes out like a meat s’more… Ain’t nothing else like it.”

His hand reaching up to scratch contemplatively at his short beard, Murphy starts to relax, his jacket falling loose once more. “Was this one little French place. Always had a table on reserve for me. Made the best steak tartare this side of the Atlantic. Capers, shallots, a dash of Worcestershire, and an egg yolk on top… Paired well with a decent rosé Champaign, too.”

“Never could work up the courage to eat that. Something about the raw beef just didn’t sit well with me. How about you, kid? You ever tried it?”

“Oh, please. Of course, he hasn’t. Princess here wouldn’t know haute cuisine if it bent him over a damn pool table!”

And just like that the kid’s brows dip back down, only now they’re joined by the beginnings of a frown, though whether it’s one of annoyance or confusion, Doc isn’t quite sure. But, with how 10k’s eyes only seem to darken as Murphy’s smirk grows wider, he isn’t too keen on finding out.

Probably be best to ignore that asshole and keep the conversation going.

“What about a favourite meat, then? Something you’d never say no to.”

The kid’s frown is turned on Doc, now, though the usual light has returned to his face. A small hesitation as 10k lips at his lips, fingers tugging at his scarf, and then, he speaks.

“Pikeminnow.”

And Doc cannot help but smile. “Fish? Did you catch it yourself?”

With a slight nod, the kid’s fingers release blue silk and rest once again in his lap, idly tracing along his rifle. “Some call ‘em a trash fish, but I like ‘em. And if you kill it, you eat it, y’know?”

Trying to encourage him to open up more, Doc decides to press him further. “And how would you cook it? Would you fry it or smoke it or something?”

“Fry. Best fresh so we’d fillet it on the riverbank. Bony so had to be careful. Could dull the knife.”

Shifting to sit up straighter, Murphy’s face flashes with curiosity. “And what did it taste like?”

10k laps at his lips as he ponders the question. “White meat is flaky but sweet. The dark meat, kinda like liver.”

“Huh. Could be interesting. Bit of light seasoning, even just salt and pepper, as you fry. A squeeze of lemon to contrast the sweetness…”

Doc couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on his face, his mouth falling open as he searches for his words. “Murphy, you cook?”

The man snorts, that smug look working its way back with ease. “Of course, I can cook. Not everyone is won over with the glitz and glam of fine dining. Needed a way to lure in the women who had a competency kink. If you invite them over for dinner and pour a glass of wine before putting on a good show in the kitchen, it _really_ gets their juices flowing.” Leaning back, Murphy throws his arms outwards to rest along the sides of the bed, like a peacock fanning its feathers. “Got good enough at it that I can tell what dish would work best with a single glance.”

He oughta have known. Seriously. Because a guy like Murphy _would_ have found a way to sleaze up something as wholesome as cooking. It was such an obvious trap, too, and Doc had walked–

“What would you make me?”

At 10k’s simple though rather oblivious question, Murphy lets loose a crack of laughter loud enough to draw in any Zs from miles around. And, honestly, if it wasn’t for the man’s crude sense of humour and penchant for jabs at the kid’s sexuality, Doc might have laughed, himself. But as it is…

“Ah, no, kid. He’s talking about cooking for women as a, er, _romantic_ thing.”

The man in question tilts forward, face as triumphant as it is smug. “Yeah, and sorry, Princess, but you ain’t exactly my type.”

Jaw tight, 10k turns from both them and their conversation, eyes now glued firmly on the horizon. And Doc lets him go. The kid is probably embarrassed, having misunderstood Murphy’s comments and then strolled right into another one of the man’s jabs. Jabs that Doc had promised not to rise to. And to think, 10k had been doing so well, too. Talking doesn’t exactly come easy to the kid which is why it’s been something he’s been trying to help him work on…

Now, Doc has never been one to jump straight to violence if another route is available but if Murphy’s infantile jokes ever cause a step back in all this progress the kid has been making then he might have to break one of Garnett’s orders, just this once. Though, maybe Doc won’t have to: with how the man is now curled up in his corner, jacket once more pulled tight, at least Murphy has the decency to look a little guilty about what he’s done.

Pulling himself to his feet, 10k rests his rifle over the truck’s roof. Because he’s spotted a Z or two standing by the side of the road. Well, one is standing, holding the other’s head in its hand. The rest of that headless Z is sprawled in the dirt, baking in the early afternoon sun.

The kid leans in, taking aim, then–

Then nothing.

He doesn’t fire, instead pulling back from the rifle to rub at his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes as the truck sails on passed the Zs.

Both men are silent as they watch 10k slump back down into the bed, one knee pulled up, frown down at his hands as they fiddle with his scope. Is there a problem with his rifle or…? Or could have Murphy and his thoughtless comments have really gotten to the kid? Affected him enough to have messed up his game…

“French toast.”

Murphy’s sudden words make the kid peer up, confusion plainly visible on his face. And the man shrugs, a hand reaching up to scratch awkwardly at his beard.

“ _If_ you were my type, Ten, I’d make you French toast.”

Falling back into a more relaxed posture, 10k’s gaze shifts, now more curious than confused, and that seems to be enough to encourage the man to continue.

“It’s nothing too extravagant, sure, but anything fancy would probably make you feel uncomfortable or out of place. Usually, I’d make it with sourdough. Knowing your sweet tooth, though, I think a nice thick wedge of brioche would work better. Grate on a little bit of nutmeg and…”

Folding his legs, Doc leans back and enjoys the breeze, letting their conversation flow over him. Sure, Murphy might be arrogant – and, at times, insufferably so – but maybe he’s not as bad as the old guy had thought. The man seems to purposefully step on as many toes as he can, as often as he can, with the kid’s being his personal favourite.

But it seems that he not only knows when he’s taken things too far, but also how best to rectify it.

And with 10k’s enraptured smile, and with his toes tapping idly away next to his discarded rifle…

Well, Doc cannot help but think that maybe Murphy isn’t so bad for the kid after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the very long wait between chapter uploads - I've been rather unwell...
> 
> Anyway, now that I'm better, I thought I'd write a quick little chapter to make up for it while proving that I'm still alive. (This means that the story's chapter count has increased by one...)
> 
> The next (proper length) chapter shouldn't be such too much of a wait as I've already started writing it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the mini chapter!
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy enjoys the view.
> 
> Then, Addy finds a new like and dislike.
> 
> Also, Garnett achieves a minor victory.
> 
> Finally, 10k gets his hands dirty.

Doc’s annoying.

Actually, no: he’s more than annoying. He’s downright _infuriating_ , like a broad kicking off in a restaurant because she was too stupid to know what pancetta is. Seriously, there is a reason Murphy had made it a point to no longer date vegans…

And this ain’t Murphy’s clawing hunger talking, here, either. He is more than used to going a few days without food. That bastard Hammond had always prioritised his own meals over Murphy’s, after all.

What Doc had done is worse than that. The old hippy had made him think about the old days, pre-Z. Days when every morsel Murphy ate was gourmet. Days when his greatest worry was finding his next mark. Days when he had it all – a penthouse suite and hand tailored suits; open invitations to poker nights at the city’s finest gambling houses; a life of loose morals and even looser women…

But the best part? His life of extravagance and hedonism was bankrolled entirely on some other sucker’s dime. And not once did Murphy feel even the tiniest, most infinitesimal twinge of guilt over that, either, because what are fools for if not for being separated from their money?

Now look at him. Gone are the fine clothes, the high-stakes tournaments, and the revolving door of harlots. Instead, all he has are grubby old rags saturated with the scent of death, an old hippy who couldn’t guard his cards if his life depended on it, and a sniper with an overeager trigger finger and a voracious smoking habit.

Still, it could be worse.

Hammond could still be alive.

Murphy waves the cigarette towards Ten, but the little shit isn’t looking, instead staring off down the road. Because a building has poked its head over the horizon. Looks like they’re finally here, then: Province Town, a potential supply stop the wonderfully dead Hammond had had marked on his map, and home to one of Garnett’s old war buddies. Hopefully this ‘Major Williams’ isn’t as unbearably optimistic as their own beloved leader…

As Murphy claims the final drag as his own before flicking the butt onto the road, 10k clambers to his feet. Snatching up his rifle from the floor of the bed, the young man leans into his typically on-guard position braced against the truck’s roof, glaring at the fast approaching compound. And, with the air too tense for anything resembling decent conversation, Murphy just relaxes back and enjoys the view.

Ten has a nice ass, that much he can freely admit – to himself, anyway – but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the _nicest_ ass in the vicinity. That particular honour would probably be awarded to Warren. Now, that woman may be too bossy for Murphy’s usual tastes, but she’s got ample enough _assets_ to make up for it, that’s for sure. A firecracker like her is wasted on a puppy-eyed goody-two-shoes like Garnett, though. Hell, their gentle leader probably wouldn’t know how to handle her right, never mind properly pleasure her. And when he thinks about it, as much as Murphy enjoys a good ass now and then, he’s always been a tit guy at heart, and wouldn’t you know it: that’s also something that their dear Roberta has in spades. Really is a shame that whenever she’s running there are usually too many Zs around for him to fully appreciate it…

That’s another thing wasted on Garnett, now, isn’t it? The sappy soldier probably wouldn’t even know want to do with a pair of tits like that! And while Murphy isn’t the type to toot his own trumpet – at least in public – that’s an area of a woman he’s become quite adept at handling. Hell, he’s even skilful enough to unintentionally rile up Ten, the simple brush of his thumb across a pert, pink nipple all it had taken.

Thinking back on that night, as he’s found himself doing more often as the days since have grown in number, he cannot help but find that whole incident… strange. The young man is certainly that – a man – and yet the firm swell of his pecs had been an almost odd mix of physically intriguing and aesthetically indulgent. On top of that, Murphy had never realised that a man’s nipples could be that sensitive. Sensitive enough to elicit such a state of obvious arousal in Ten, all parted lips and panted breaths… A delicate dusting of red high across his cheeks…

Not that anything ended up happening between them that night.

And not that Murphy had wanted something to, either.

Anyway, nothing else has happened since, so it was likely a one off. A complete fluke. Some weird class of temporary, shared insanity that they had successfully navigated their way through and then left behind in the dust.

That thought doesn’t sadden Murphy in any way, though, because he doesn’t think of Ten that way. And as for what he’s doing now, catching idle glimpses at how those grey pants drape over such a well-sculpted ass in a manner he wouldn’t hesitate to describe as almost provocative… Well, that’s him simply deciding to make the most of the here and now, to enjoy the view that is being so graciously offered while he can. After all, it’s only until a better offer comes along, right?

While he pondered, the truck had dutifully chugged along, turning down a short road before finally coming to a halt. The entranceway to compound has been blocked to vehicles in that paranoid manner that had quickly become the norm in the Apocalypse, their barricades holding aloft a sign that drags a smirk across Murphy’s lips.

‘ _Province Town: Weapon Free Zone._ ’

10k, predictably, balks. “Surrender all weapons? Are they serious?”

As their adorable little sniper glances back them in horror, Doc sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t much like it either but if that’s their rules… Sorry, kid.”

With the truck now inching towards the gate, 10k turns back to the front, his hand whitening as the grip on his rifle tightens. He’s still leaning against the roof but as a handful of guards scuttle out to meet them, their own raised weapons trained on the truck, Ten slowly slips his gun down to his side.

The short woman in shades is the first to speak, her voice ringing out with a surprising amount of authority. “Stop right there! This is a private compound. I’m going to have to ask you to turn around and go back the way you came.”

Her orders aren’t enough to deter Garnett, however, the soldier nudging his door open before sliding from the truck, hands raised. “I’m looking for Major Williams. Joe Williams.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Sergeant Charles Garnett, Georgia National Guard. We’ve known each other going back pre-Z.”

With a hesitant glance to her men, Shades seems to buy some of Garnett’s story. Not completely, but enough to humour his request, at least. “Wait here. Your crew stays in the truck. They try to get out or we see a weapon, we’ll fire.”

One of Shades’ men scuttles back off into the compound like the good little guard dog that he is, and Murphy sees no more need to watch her as intently as those beside in him the bed do. As he idles, his eyes find themselves sliding over to 10k, the young man’s grey eyes attentively soaking up their surroundings, rifle still tucked tightly to his side.

The wait, mercifully, isn’t a long one, a stern looking man soon marching out of the guardhouse like he owns the damn place. Though, if this is that Major Williams they’re looking for, he probably does…

“Well holy shit. It’s the ghost of Charlie Garnett. Never expected to see you again. At least not alive.”

And with that, the two soldiers stand around chatting in the middle of the road, having a good old gossip about days long passed like a couple of bored housewives at a high school reunion, leaving the rest of them to bake under the midday sun. At least this Williams guy has the courtesy to tell his guard dogs to stand down, allowing 10k to finally relax. Not by much, mind you, but enough to loosen that death grip on his rifle. And as the colour slowly filters back into those gloved fingers, Murphy finds himself starting to relax, too.

As the soldiers’ chit-chat continues to drag on and on, Doc determined to lean out of the bed to watch, Murphy keeps his own eyes on Ten. The usual pent up energy that builds in the young man during their long drives is still present, though the typical techniques to release some of the pressure are not. Obviously, he cannot scan the horizon and snipe away at any Zs, and neither can he clean and sharpen his knives – both of those coping strategies are liable to get him shot! No, instead, Ten has taken to fidgeting. Tapping fingers along the truck’s roof, tugging impatiently at his hair, and even shifting his weight slowly from one foot to the other. And as this shifting becomes more exaggerated, as his hips begin to sway along with his movement, as the tilting makes his ass more pronounced…

Yeah, it’ll probably be wise of Murphy to tune back into their dear leader’s conversation.

“Come inside and tell me your story. We’ll get you some food. But the truck stays outside. And, of course, you’ll have to check your weapons.”

Huh.

Seems he missed it all.

What a shame.

The whole happy family clamber out and Murphy does some shifting side to side of his own to get his legs working again, the gentle crunch of gravel as 10k lands on the road behind him more reassuring than the man would ever admit. But as they all amble towards the guardhouse, stripping down weapons and shuffling one by one into the compound, he notices something.

Those quiet and deliberate footsteps, the ones usually padding unremittingly at his heel, are absent. And it seems that Murphy isn’t the only one to notice, Garnett turning back at the same time he does.

10k is still next to the truck, steadfast in his refusal to leave its perceived safety, the death grip on is rifle returned. Brows low, jaw tight, eyes dark: that look on his face? Yeah, it’s a little too strong for Murphy to call it mere apprehension.

Major Williams’ voice is low, a clearly calculated gesture on the man’s part. “We gonna have a problem with this one?”

“No! No, just… He’s been though a lot these last few years. More than most. You see to the others, get them checked in while I… While I talk to him.” And with not even a single, courteous glance Murphy’s way, Garnett hastily treks back over to the truck.

Their heads are low, their voices unintelligible, and no matter how the man casually shifts in attempt to draw his attention, Ten’s eyes never once lift to meet Murphy’s. All of which pisses him off way more than it should. He wants to hear what they’re saying. He wants to know what the problem is. And, more than anything, _he_ wants to the one to help Ten out.

But, as always, it’s _Garnett_ that he’s turned to. It always is. For everyone.

First, the puppy-looking bastard captures Warren’s eye, and now he’s wormed his way into 10k’s good graces, too. The others may think that their dear leader is a nice person, an all-around upstanding guy, but Murphy knows the truth. He knows what Garnett _really_ is.

A greedy asshole!

After Murphy’s initial few steps towards them, that nosy Major starts giving him an overly stern yet curious side-eye, causing his determination to quickly waver. For the first time in years, however, someone up high must be watching over him as that look had been too late to arrive and his mission had been met with success.

Murphy can just make out their words.

“…know it’s a lot to ask, Ten. You’ve barely spent a moment unarmed since all this began–”

“Six.”

“What?”

“Six.” 10k licks at his lips, his gaze dropping. “Been armed since I was six.”

At those words, Garnett’s jaw tightens as his teeth clench, his eyes narrow and brows and low, a pained wince that makes the man turn away. And Murphy joins him in his discomfort, because six? Seriously? What kind of _lunatic_ would arm a damn six-year-old? On the few occasions that the young man had talked about his father, it was obvious to anyone with two braincells to rub together how dearly he holds the guy, which is why his death had hurt Ten so much. But that doesn’t mean shit to Murphy. The kind of man that would arm a child in the Old World is the kind of man he’d consider a bastard. And an actual one, at that, not simply an annoyance like Garnett. And what was it with, anyway? Surely it wasn’t a rifle, not at that age. Murphy’s seen Ten in action – that thing has a hell of a lot of recoil, and certainly more than a little kid could handle. So, was he armed with something smaller, then? A knife, maybe?

“Look, Ten, if you really don’t want to, I won’t force you.” Garnett’s annoyingly gentle words pull Murphy back, and although he’s grateful at how soothing they are, he’ll never admit that to the man. Not even on his deathbed. “You could stay out here, guard the truck for us. But I served with Joe. He saved my life more times than I can count. If he says Province Town is safe, then I believe him. Because I _trust_ him.”

With one of the man’s hands now squeezing at his shoulder, 10k finally looks up. “O-okay. I’ll come in.”

Relief floods over Garnett’s face, the tension in his body easing with Ten’s words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cuz I… I trust you, Charlie.”

Murphy has a lot of will power. In fact, it’s something that he’s always prided himself on. With the type of life he used to lead, temptation was a multiple-times-a-day occurrence, and often of the variety that not knowing when to hold back, to not give in, could drastically shorten one’s lifespan.

And it takes every last damn drop of willpower in Murphy’s bite-riddled body to not recoil in absolute disgust because what the ever-loving fuck was that?

‘Charlie’? Fucking _Charlie_? Since when does 10k call him _motherfucking_ Charlie‽

Oh, so having all of Warren isn’t enough for this greedy asshole anymore, then? Fucking _Charlie_ has just up and decided to waltz on in and snatch away his Princess, too, huh? Murphy had known that there was a reason that the Sergeant had been trying to wedge himself between them, but he’d never once have guessed that it was because he wanted to keep the little shit to himself!

Well, maybe Murphy will have to push a bit harder, then. Reel him back in. His Princess is too useful, to precious a potential resource to allow him to slip away so easily.

Swallowing his anger – a task so downright herculean that he should receive praise from far and wide for simply having the fortitude to accomplish it – Murphy falls in line behind 10k as they finally make their way into the guardhouse. _Charlie_ finishes his weapons check-in in short order, stepping through into the compound, the others crowding around him with curiosity at the delay. And then the man turns back to Ten with a damn smile.

Rifle and slingshot. Knife after knife. A gun, small and silver. A second, larger, darker, that loathsome Browning. As 10k’s weapons keep coming, the credulity on the guard’s face grows as strong as Murphy’s own delight. Ten is armed to the teeth, ready for any eventuality and likely able to take down anything that threatens his own personal mission. And, right now, that personal mission is to protect Murphy.

Yes, yes. The man knows that 10k would still be so heavily armed without the orders to keep him safe, but a man can dream, can’t he? Can have a little fantasy. One where the young man is all doing all this for him…

Finally stripped bare of all his finery and armaments, Ten steps forward, Shades waving her wand over his body and–

_Beep._

Of course. Murphy expected nothing less.

Throwing a sheepish grin Garnett’s way, 10k slips a hand down his pants, tugging out a chain. A rather impressive chain, at that. One that leaves Murphy wondering how he hadn’t noticed it before. Sure, those grey pants aren’t the tightest, but they’re not exactly the loosest, either, not from what he’s seen. The young man must have had a hard job to keep that thing tucked away and out of sight.

Chain checked in at the desk, Ten steps forward once more, ready to be scanned again. And, as the wand makes a pass over his thigh–

_Beep_.

Garnett sighs, casting 10k a look that’s more disappointed than angry, though its impact is lessened considerably by the giggles of Addy and Cassandra behind him. Instead of responding to the man’s almost paternal admonishment, however, the young man has the gall to look surprised as the woman searching him glares.

“Still got something in your pocket?”

10k laps at his lips, shaking his head in a confused denial before realisation lights up his face. “Got shot.”

“Excuse me?”

“My uncle.” As Shades all but reels back at his words, Ten makes quick work of his belt before tugging down the side of his pants – his boxers evidently sliding away with them – and exposing the pale skin of his hip and the beginnings of a shapely, toned thigh. Seems that the silvery constellation Murphy had trailed his fingers along disappear lower than Ten’s clothes had allowed his observe. “Birdshot. Thought I got it all.”

The poor woman squirms, her sunglasses not hiding her awkwardness as she hastily averts her gaze from both the scared flesh and the suggestion of dark, coarse hair coquettishly peeking out from beneath the young man’s lowered pants. Unfortunately for her, she’d made the mistake of shifting her eyes up to his face. With a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, and his grey eyes shining bright below pulled in brows, Ten’s lost puppy look had been slid into place with meticulous ease. Murphy has been exposed enough to both this very expression and the real 10k to know that look for the manipulative façade it truly is, but Shades? Well, her complete ignorance leaves her unable to hold firm under the full weight of such skilfully weaponised youthful obliviousness.

Suddenly finding something exceptionally fascinating on the wall, she waves Ten through.

Strolling over for his own frisk and search, Murphy makes a point of slowly opening his jacket with one hand before sliding the other into the inner pocket. Carefully – in fact, much more carefully than strictly necessary – he extracts a lighter, holding it high as Shades waves her wand over him. And not a single beep is heard. With his entrance into Province Town granted, the man quickly falls in line behind the others, Ten sizing up a dark-haired girl by the fence before taking his place at Murphy’s side. As a short tour begins – the highlights of which include a zombie cage and a self-congratulatory speech about what an amazing job the Major is doing at delaying all these people’s inevitable deaths – the man tucks their lighter away, the dinted and dull metal once more snuggled up beside the Oreo.

That damn cookie. It’s been there, burrowing into his side like the bittersweet thorn it is, while his stomach growls. While _all_ their stomachs growl. And only he knew that it was sitting right there, ready for the taking. Well, 10k might have possibly known, too, as it was the young man who gave it to him. Back on that night. Back in the motel. Murphy had thought that Ten would have devoured both cookies in the packet but no: he’d passed one back, sharing his snack, their little secret. But even as the group’s food had run out, as they sat sombrely around a campfire and scraped the pot clean, that single cookie sat patiently in his pocket.

Because one solitary Oreo wouldn’t do much to fill anyone’s stomach.

And Murphy knows that it would be much more useful as a reward.

“All the doors and gates close automatically, sealing off each section of the compound.” Williams is droning on and on, the words sounding like little more than a preening of his feathers. “Like on a submarine. Can’t be opened by Zs. Everything’s been zombie proofed.”

At that, Murphy cannot hold back a scoff. “You ever hear of the Titanic?”

And the Major glares, because of course he does. “You’re welcome to wait outside in your vehicle.”

As Garnett jumps in to intervene, ever the one to take any chance to make himself look good, Murphy loiters, letting the rest of the group pull ahead on their tour. Because, yes, actually, he _would_ like to wait back at the truck. With Ten at his side, rifle in hand, Murphy would actually _be safe_ there. Hell, the only thing stopping him grabbing the young man and marching back on out there is the promise of food. But that’s it. As soon as he’s eaten, he’s outta here.

The others all continue on with that pitiable little tour, eating up all of Williams’ false promises, soon turning a corner and leaving Murphy and Ten alone. Trudging on at their own pace, he watches the young man. Watches his steps. They’re even, unhindered, long and slender legs carrying him down the hallway with ease. And Murphy finds himself fighting back a smile. “You don’t really have metal stuck in your leg, do you, Princess?”

“Think I might.” Coming to a stop, 10k glances down the hallway, pale eyes hesitant. “Can feel it, anyway. Y’wanna?”

Turning back to Murphy, Ten reaches out, a gloved hand wrapping around one of the man’s own and bringing it flush to his thigh. And, well, if he’s offering… Murphy presses his fingers in, the warmth of Ten’s flesh seeping through the hardy fabric of his pants. Muscle twitches, flexing under his firm touch, and he presses harder, deeper, searching.

“Here.” The gloved hand is back, sliding over Murphy’s, manoeuvring his inquisitive touch, coaxing it inwards, bringing it to rest much closer to the young man’s crotch than he’d dared try uninvited.

And that’s when he feels it, Murphy’s hand gingerly tracing the solid weight he’s found under the fabric. Long and hard, it is. Thick and heavy. And the man knows exactly what it is his fingers are now eagerly wrapping around.

Murphy leans in close, words a delicate rumble as they slither into 10k’s ear.

“A knife? You managed to sneak in a knife… Oh, Princess, what a clever, clever boy you are. Keep this up and you just might earn yourself a nice reward…”

He straightens back up and drops his hand, reluctantly releasing the young man’s weapon. But Ten moves forward, up onto his toes, keeping their faces close. A gloved hand traces permissively along Murphy’s cheek as pale eyes bore into his own blue, a twitch of a smile threatening to slice across pink lips. “Beard’s almost grown back. Will let you kiss me soon.”

Then the young man pulls away, turning on his heel and slinking off down the hallway. And Ten doesn’t turn back, confident that the man he’s leaving behind will obediently follow.

And yeah, he does. But not before letting 10k get a few steps ahead of him. Because, sure, he may not exactly return his Princess’s interest, but that doesn’t mean Murphy can’t enjoy the view.

~*~*~

Cherries, deep red, rolling around her plate before overwhelming her palate. Rough stems, shiny skin, all sweet and sour with a gentle, underlying bitterness… How has Addy never had a real cherry before?

Sure, she’d had flavouring: cherry syrup drizzled over a mountain of ice cream; cherry Jolly Ranchers to push her through a long night of studying; cherry Chapstick to make her lips soft and kissable.

But actual cherries?

Like, the real fruit?

She’d always overlooked them, passed them by in favour of peaches, apricots, or a slice of melon.

Sitting here in a noisy cafeteria, Mac pressing reassuringly to her side, the sour juice tinting her lips pink, she thinks back on her younger self. She’d always picked the cherries off every Black Forest cake, flicking them to the side to dig into the kirsch and the cream and the chocolate sponge.

Pre-Z Addy had been a fool.

She glances up at the approaching footsteps, 10k hastily shoving Murphy around Cassandra and towards the table, pushing him down onto the bench next to Doc before eagerly taking his own seat at the arrogant man’s other side. As she finally reaches the table herself, Cassandra’s own footsteps falter, her movements marred with hesitation as she circles around to take the last open seat. The seat on the other side of Mac. And as she awkwardly lowers herself down, her cheeks are lightly dusted with the same gentle blush she’d worn in the truck while nestled between Addy and her boyfriend.

Opposite the young woman, 10k is wearing the most self-satisfied smirk Addy has ever seen on him. And it doesn’t escape Cassandra’s notice, either, if the annoyance briefly flashing across her face is anything to go by. Or the way she shifts in her seat, jerking oddly under the table.

“Ow, hey, what the hell was that for?” With a hiss, Murphy lurches back from his stoop over his plate, glaring over at Cassandra as the kid’s grin only grows.

Her blush deepening, the young woman drops her eyes, a hand gesturing towards 10k. “Sorry, sorry… Was meant for…”

Catching on, Murphy turns his scowl on the kid beside him, swinging an arm out to clip him behind the ear. Not that it lands, Ten snorting with laughter as he ducks back. Seeing his effort at payback for the futile attempt that it is, Murphy selects an easier target. Before 10k has had time to fully right himself, the man turns towards his plate, snatching up the kid’s apple and taking a huge bite, claiming the fruit as his own.

And speaking of huge bites, at her side Mac is wolfing down his food, using both hands to shovel it towards his mouth. It doesn’t seem he’s chewing properly, either, appearing more to simply inhale the food. Hell, Addy is surprised Mac hasn’t cut out the middleman and taken to sucking his meal up from directly off the plate.

“Dude. Dude, slow down. They’re not gonna take it from you.”

The blond arches a thick brow, sending a dubious glance Murphy’s way. Seeing this, the arrogant man only smirks, wiping juice from his lips as he drops the apple core to his plate. Hearing the clatter, 10k drags his eyes from a dark-haired girl across the room, spying the core. With a roll of his eyes, the kid snatches it up, munching it down in three hasty bites, stem, seeds, and all.

Murphy doesn’t bother any attempts to hide his revulsion. “Knew you had bad taste, Princess, but that’s just disgusting.”

The kid only shrugs, popping a rather juicy looking cherry in his mouth. “No point wasting it. Not enough to kill me.”

Okay, maybe Addy didn’t hear that right. “Wait, did you say ‘kill’?”

A simple nod. “Cyanide.”

Next to him, Murphy rolls his eyes, his smile holding a hint of fondness. “Shoulda known you of all people _would_ know how to kill someone with damn _fruit_ …”

Addy stares down at the apple on her plate. She’d been saving it for last, wanting to savour its crisp and juicy crunch, but now? Now the shiny skin, all green and bright, seems more of a warning than an enticement. With a sigh, she slides it over to Mac, her handsome blond not even hesitating before vacuuming it up alongside the rest of his food.

“Guess I’ll be sticking to the cherries, then. Unless… _They’re_ not gonna kill me, right?”

Biting back a grin, 10k doesn’t speak, instead spitting out a cherry pit, its clatter onto melamine answer enough.

“Seriously? _Dude_ …”

His meal finished, the kid idly grasps Murphy’s cup, taking a deep gulp as he directs his attention back to that dark-haired girl. For real, though: it’s a good thing that Cassandra isn’t the jealous type as sometimes it looks like there are three people in that relationship, especially with how those two guys are always sharing things. Water, food, cigarettes; nothing is off limits between 10k and Murphy.

Addy knows that it’s not really like that, though. Knows there is nothing beyond a bizarre friendship between those two. Because not only is 10k straight and very obviously wanting to get friendly with Cassandra but, c’mon, this is _Murphy_ we’re talking about here. Hell, even with her own preferences leaning more in favour of men than any other genders, Addy would pick a woman like Cassandra over Murphy in a heartbeat. That man looks like a Z, smells like a Z, and acts like an asshole. As for Cassandra? Well, if she didn’t already have her amazing and wonderful boyfriend, should 10k ever mess this up, Addy wouldn’t say no to keeping the beautiful young woman warm at night.

As if on cue, the kid rises from his seat, eyes following the dark-haired girl as she scurries through the cafeteria and out through a side door. Wordlessly patting Murphy on the shoulder, 10k sends a questioning glance Cassandra’s way, the young woman answering it with a slight nod. Then, without even a glance at anyone else, the kid silently slinks across the room and out of sight.

And Cassandra doesn’t seem put off by any of this, whatever ‘this’ is.

Sure, Addy may not fully understand what is going on between them, may not have all the details of their private relationship, but what she _does_ know is that personal connections can come in many forms. She doesn’t think that 10k is the type to so openly hit on a girl, seeing as he’d confessed to her that he’s never even kissed one, so what he’s up to right now she has not the faintest idea. But someone who does appear to know is Cassandra and, seeing as she seems to agree with it, Addy thinks it’s not really her place to judge.

Which is why she says nothing, instead turning back to her cherries after sending a silent promise the young woman’s way.

A promise that, if he ever hurts Cassandra, Addy will try not to punch 10k _too_ hard.

~*~*~

Garnett shake’s Williams’ hand, the man’s grip as strong and firm today as it had been the first day they met.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and Charlie, here. The razor you asked for. Not many laying around, what with the blade and all, but I had one going spare. If you need more, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

With their goodbyes said, Garnett carefully tucks the razor into his shirt pocket, still awed by how Williams had handed it over for free. He’s been desperately searching high and low for one of these, almost reaching the point of being fully willing and able to trade off his own blood if it came to it. And yet, here one is, handed over with a friendly smile and firm handshake, having only cost him an absentminded inquiry.

Collecting her plate, Warren looks up at him with a smile. “You’re not going to shave, are you? A beard suits you…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. It’s for Murphy, actually. Figured it’d be safer than another knife.”

Safer for 10k, too.

The kid has been getting worse, always staring after Murphy, eyes clouded by his hunger. And, really, what is Garnett able to do? He’s not going to trawl the Apocalypse in hopes of finding another man to catch 10k’s eye, someone for the kid to jump into bed with, to distract him from Murphy. That’s just… No. He can’t. 10k is too much like a son to him. It’ll just feel… wrong. Instead, Garnett has settled on two things that he can more comfortably do. The first, keep an eye on the kid, make sure he doesn’t find an opportunity to tempt his way into Murphy’s pants. Sure, the man had said he’s straight, but an asshole like that? Yeah, Garnett wouldn’t put it passed him to toy with the kid, even if to only stroke his own ego. The second thing that the Sergeant has decided on depends heavily on acquiring this razor: if he’s able to nudge Murphy into making himself less, ah, _appealing_ to 10k then maybe Garnett will be able to douse the kid’s interest in the man. And it doesn’t have to be forever, either, as once they reach California that asshole will no longer be their problem. It’ll be a great help towards one of Garnett’s side missions, too – helping 10k find a healthier way of soothing his broken heart. Sleeping around is a temporary distraction and will only cause the kid more pain in the long run.

Garnett smiles down gratefully at Cassandra as the young woman inches up the bench, closing the gap between herself and Mac to make some room for the Sergeant. Across from him, Warren slides gracefully down into the empty seat at Murphy’s side. His beautiful second-in-command speaks up before Garnett himself has the chance. And he doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s one of the things he loves about her – not only is she a fully capable leader in her own right, but he’s also always enjoyed seeing her take control of a situation.

“So, we’ve got the lowdown on the sleeping situation. There’s a room that two or three of us can share, and there’s a communal bunk.”

Murphy’s head jerks up, a hand raised. “Dibs on the room.”

Sighs sound all around the table because of course he immediately thinks of himself. It’s probably the only thing he consistently thinks about, other than how to rile people up, how to best get under their skin.

Everyone’s rather obvious disagreement with him, however, isn’t enough to deter a man like Murphy.

“What? Be less of a risk of anyone figuring out who I am. Plus, if he shares with me, it’ll keep Ten out of trouble. Do _you_ want to deal with the fallout if he has a nightmare in the communal room and guts someone in his sleep?

Warren scoffs. “With what?”

“Didn’t you see the kitchen, Roberta? Some of those rubber spatulas looked awful sinister.”

“Did I say you could call me that?”

“I can call you what I want.”

“Then I’m gonna start calling you my _bitch_ if you don’t stop.”

Now it’s Murphy’s turn to scoff, sending the Sergeant a sour look before dropping his eyes to his cup.

Throwing a thumb in Garnett and Warren’s direction, Doc offers his own two cents. “I think we should give it to those two.”

Warren’s eyes widen, threatening to fall out of her head as she stares silently around the table before finally turning to Garnett. Because she didn’t know that their secret is out. Hell, Garnett wouldn’t have known, either, if not for the kid. The Sergeant had been meaning to bring it up with Warren, to let her know, but… He couldn’t. The awkwardness: it was still too fresh. 10k giving him those, ah, those condoms. And being so casual, so downright _blasé_ about it, too… No, that had been too much for Garnett. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. So, he hadn’t. Which delayed him in talking to Warren.

But now that the jig is up, he can’t let her know. Can’t have her find out that he’d failed to give her a heads up. So, he plays along. Plays ignorant.

“What, no, no, no. We’re not a…”

Addy’s laughter is bright and carefree, Mac’s eyes twinkling as he speaks. “Yeah, you guys take it.”

“Is it… that obvious?”

“Well…” Clearing her throat, Warren laces her fingers. Her lips are pursed; her brows are raised; her rich, brown eyes hold a twinkle of their own. “If we’re gonna do the time, we may as well do the crime.”

And with that, she’s up, gripping Garnett’s arm and tugging him along after her. As she shoves open the cafeteria door and guides them out into the hall, he leans down, speaking softly in her ear. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Just wish after last time I’d had the forethought to ask Addy for a condom.” She turns her head to him, tilting it upwards, allowing a step to falter so she can lean back into his chest. Her eyes are dark, her smile holding more promises than could be granted in a single mortal lifetime. “But we’ll think of something. I went to Catholic school.”

“Oh. Well, as good as that is to know, it seems we’re in luck.” Wrapping one hand over her hip, he slips the other into his pant’s pocket, pulling free a foiled packed and presenting it with a flourish.

“You sure kept that quiet, Charlie. Where did you find it?”

“Was given it, actually. By, erm, by 10k.”

Her laugh is quiet, the light seeping into her eyes gentle, the heat in her smile cooling to a fondness. “Well, I suppose that boy _would_ have some. What do you think he used them for? Waterproofing? Tinder?”

“Safe sex?”

Roberta stops in her tracks, looking Charlie up and down. “Thought you gave up on that stupid theory? That he sold himself.”

“Ah, yeah, I have. Was meaning more of the, well, hormonal teenager uses.”

“As relieved as I am to hear that, we can congratulate him and Cassandra later. Right now, we have a much more pressing matter at hand.”

Garnett wants to correct her, he really does, even if only to help Cassandra out. He wouldn’t want the young woman to feel the need to lie, protective as she is over 10k. But as Roberta turns back down the hallway, her hand slips backwards. Slender fingers wrap around his belt buckle, gripping it tight, tugging him along behind her.

And his mind goes blank.

But, honestly, who could blame him?

Because his beautiful Roberta is never more captivating than when she takes the initiative; when she takes charge of a situation; when she takes full control.

And, right now, Roberta is finally taking control of Charlie.

~*~*~

10k’s chest heaves, heart thumping hard, breaths coming heavy.

Blue silk, pulled up, fluttering, fluttering.

It was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be secure. Supposed to be _zombie proof_.

The blood, warm blood, red blood, drip drip dripping from his fingers, from his knife. Dripping to the linoleum, staining it, staining it, staining it along with his hands.

He’s standing here, in a hallway, blood dripping as he stares ahead. Stares at the branching paths before him. Stares because he doesn’t know which way to go.

Left? Or right?

He’d left the food hall. Left Cassandra. Left _Murphy_.

It was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be secure.

He was at the gate. He could have run. He could have survived. But he didn’t. He came back. Back inside.

Garnett and Warren. Addy and Mac. Cassandra and Doc.

_They_ can fight. _They_ can survive. _They_ don’t need him.

It’s Murphy.

It’s Murphy he needs to protect.

It’s Murphy he needs to find.

The man would have panicked. The man would have run. The man would have found a place to hide.

But where? How can 10k find him? Which way should he go?

Left? Or right?

He doesn’t know. So, he stands. Stands in the hallway. The blood on his hands is dripping. The blood in his veins is burning. Burning with adrenaline. Burning with anger.

_It was supposed to be safe._

His mind, it burns with anger, blistering his thoughts, clouding his judgement.

His nose is clogged with the scent of fresh blood, cloying and metallic and sweet.

His ribs, his mark, he digs his fingers in. Pain, sharp and clarifying, sinks into muscle, into marrow, spreads out, trickles up.

Pooling.

Cooling.

Calming.

And his mouth, it fills with words.

“Be easy on yourself.”

His words repeat, spilling out, flowing up, his voice joining the chorus growing louder in his mind.

Joining Cassandra’s.

_Be easy on yourself._

Joining Jeff’s.

_Be easy on yourself._

And it works, it works, it works.

The flames, doused. The anger, extinguished. His mind, reclaimed.

And now he can think.

Can ask himself.

Which way should he go?

Left? Or right?

He closes his eyes. He pulls in a breath. He relaxes his muscles.

He clears his mind. He focuses on nothing. He relies on instinct.

The blood, warm blood, red blood, drip drip dripping from his fingers, from his knife.

He no longer feels it, that sticky trickle.

All he feels is his breath, cooling, cooling his lungs.

Blue silk, fluttering, fluttering over his face.

Nerves tingling, tingling, starting in the tips of his fingers, ending at the back of his neck.

_Where is Murphy?_

_Which way should I go?_

He opens his eyes.

Takes a step forward.

And turns right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand shit is about to hit the fan. We all knew this had to happen eventually...
> 
> Also, I've been edting some of the earlier stories. Nothing major, just cleaning them up a bit. They'll start to be uploaded over the next few weeks so don't panic if you see the word counts fluctuating.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy runs before learning to walk.
> 
> Then, a reunion.
> 
> Finally, a prophecy.

Murphy’s chest heaves, heart thumping hard, breaths coming heavy.

They had said it was safe, secure, zombie proof. Now it’s a Titanic, sinking fast into the depths below a sea of rotten and reanimated death.

But he keeps on moving, _has to_ keep moving, cannot let himself be tired by the current, swayed by the tides, dragged into the gyres that long to usher him to his demise

to be forever a lost soul

festering and bloated

and alone

Corridors flow from one to the next, the man not once stopping to regain his bearing, a left turn followed by a right followed by a left and into a straight.

Murphy keeps on moving, _has to_ keep moving, cannot allow himself to be cornered by Zs.

He had been with the others, he could have stayed with them, he could have let them help him survive. But he didn’t: he’d ran from Cassandra; ran to find someone else.

Ran to find 10k.

Because Murphy…

Because he…

Because…

…Because the young man is armed. Yeah, 10k is armed, had defiantly smuggled one of his knives into the compound. And he’d wanted Murphy and only Murphy to know. Had shown it to him – well, had let him feel it… But forget that because, fuck, 10k has the _only_ damn weapon in this place, despite _Garnett’s_ best attempts at leaving them all vulnerable!

And _that’s_ why Murphy has to find Ten.

But… How?

Murphy doesn’t know where he could find him, doesn’t know where he had wandered off to, doesn’t know if he’s still in the compound.

What he _does_ know is that 10k wouldn’t have run away, that that thought wouldn’t have even crossed the young man’s mind. Ten would never leave Cassandra to die, could never leave Murphy behind.

But where is he? How can Murphy find him? Which way should he go?

There’s another junction ahead of him, a fork in his road, but which way should he turn?

Left? Or right?

He doesn’t know so he keeps moving, streaming down the hallway, his chest heaving and his heart thumping hard and his breathes coming heavy.

The blood in his veins: it burns. Burns with adrenaline; burns with desperation, with panic.

And it pushes him onwards, onwards, always onwards. To flee from the Zs. To find 10k. To decide.

_Which way should I go?_

He still doesn’t know.

But the corridor is coming to an end, his time is running out, his hand is being forced.

He cannot stop, cannot take the time to think.

So, he doesn’t.

Doesn’t stop

Doesn’t think

he just

turns

left

Staggering down the narrow hallway he’s turned into, Murphy flees the sounds of the dead and dying echoing behind him, bursting through the door at the end finding

finding

finding white tiles and shower stalls. A figure lurching at him, something blunt and heavy-looking in their hands. Dark haired. Not a man but not 10k.

“Die, you freakin’ Z!”

Murphy’s hands shoot up, defensive but definitely not cowering. “Human! Human. Human…”

His would-be assailant pulls her swing, eyes wide as they both stand, staring at each other. Murphy shuffles awkwardly under her scrutiny, his sneakers scuffing the tiles, and the woman furrows her brow.

“Sorry. You… you _look_ like one of them.”

Now, _that’s_ an accusatory tone if Murphy’s ever heard one. He’s lucky that she listened to him, then, instead of swinging away. With the kind of shit he’s done through the years, Murphy is more than used to a knee-jerk violent reaction whenever his reputation preceded him. But he hasn’t done anything to these people. Hasn’t had chance to. He’s an asshole, sure, he can admit to that. But a Z? Talk about offensive!

Wait… Is that why that Z in the cafeteria didn’t attack him? Had just stared at him, its eyes locked onto his face, studying him. Studying him just like this woman is…

Has he gotten worse? He can’t have, right? Not so quickly…

Murphy hasn’t looked too closely at himself since Castle Point, staring into a mirror in that bathroom in Warren’s old home – he hasn’t had the stomach for it, too afraid of what he might see. A lot of resolve and confidence is needed to work a long con or keep a façade in place, and he knows that it could dissolve at the slightest glimpse of his reflection.

But _this_?

How the fuck is he gonna pull off a Saviour act if soon no one will even believe him to be a damn human‽

Murphy’s lip curls in his annoyance. “You don’t look so good yourself, sweetheart.”

The noise behind him grows, a cacophony of guttural growls drawing his eyes back towards the door he’d just scarpered in through. He needs to find 10k, but he can’t go back out there alone. Not with those Zs; not with that noise. He never could stand it – the growling, the snarling, the screaming…

“Look, I need some help.” If a drowning man would grasp at straw, Murphy might as well settle for a short woman with a big stick. “My bodyguard is armed. Don’t ask. If we can find him, we should be able to get out of here.”

The woman takes a moment, weighing up her options, before giving a firm nod. “We’ll stick together. Two of us might have a chance at getting to him.”

The screaming. It’s stopped. But the growling, the snarling? That’s gotten louder. A flash of movement catches Murphy’s eye, dragging his head around.

A zombie.

It’s a damn zombie.

Heading straight for him.

No. No, he’s come too far, lasted so long. He’s not gonna die here in the shower room of a blighted compound.

The ground under his feet white tile, not a rotten back alley; the pressure at his back a shower wall, not a truck; the blood splattering over his shirt from the swing of a chair leg, not a round from Ten’s rifle.

Because Ten’s not here this time. Not by Murphy’s side, watching his back. If he was, that Z wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near as close to as it had.

“Why didn’t you help?”

So, Murphy wouldn’t have seen it. Seen how it wasn’t him that the Z had made a beeline for.

“Why… why didn’t it attack you?”

No. It had skirted around him. Ignored him completely. To attack the woman.

She swings her weapon back up, gripping the blood-soaked wood with both hands as she brandishes it, trying her best to seem threatening as more words spill from her lips. “Are you a part of this‽”

What can he say? What can he _really_ say to defend himself? She won’t trust him. Won’t believe him. And Murphy doesn’t blame her. Zs will attack anything human, will do whatever it takes to tear at skin and bone and sinew, their prey’s desperate cries falling on ears long deaf.

And the Z had ignored him. Had side-stepped him without even a glance.

So, of course she brandishes her weapon – she’d be a fool not to – her fingers paling as their grip tightens. Because she has no reason to believe him to be human. Not when her only evidence – never mind her original gut feeling – points to the contrary.

_Am I still human?_

As Murphy backs away, the woman’s body tenses. More growling, snarling, louder than last time. Closer, much closer. He peers over his shoulder again just as two Zs surge into the room, passing him by to rush at the woman and her bloodied chair leg.

_How would I know?_

“Help me! For God’s sake!”

_What does it feel like to_ not _be human?_

He turns his back, presses his hands over his ears. He still can’t stand it, even after all this time: the growling, the snarling, the screaming; flesh being torn from bone.

“Don’t leave me!”

He shambles out the door, feet scuffing the pristine tiles that pave the corridor, the Zs drawn by those incessant screams parting around him as they flow, hurried by their eagerness to join the feast.

And not one of them attacks him.

Because they only attack humans.

He stops, once more at a crossroads. One at which he now allows himself the luxury of pausing, of pondering.

He can turn left if he wants. Or he can turn right. Hell, he can take one path, change his mind on a whim, then come back and take the other.

He can do whatever he wants.

Because the Zs won’t attack him.

Because he’s…

He’s no longer human.

But…

But just because he’s not human doesn’t mean he has to settle for being something _lesser_. No, he can be something more than human. _Greater_ than human. He could even be a Saviour for real.

Imagine that. Here he is, Alvin B. Murphy, conman and convict, truly humanities only chance for absolution. Oh, the displeasure on Warren’s face when it’s Murphy saving her sorry ass for a change. The dejected look on Garnett’s as he realises that it’s now Murphy’s time in the limelight.

Neither of those soldiers are stupid, though: they’ll know that he’s still the same selfish asshole they first met a few months ago. And they’ll certainly know that he hasn’t had a sudden change of heart, that he is now willing to sacrifice himself for Garnett’s Mission.

But what they _won’t_ know?

Him playing at being the Saviour doesn’t necessarily need to be an act. That he can actually _be_ a Saviour, or something close to it, even if he only saves one person. The person who themselves so selflessly promised to protect Murphy. 10k might not need any assistance dealing with the Zs but it’s a big, scary world out there – one that the young man doesn’t seem to have had a lot of experience with – so surely there’ll be another danger that Murphy can help him avoid. He doesn’t like being in another’s debt so he has to pay Ten back somehow, and he sure as hell can’t give him what he really wants. As easy on the eyes as 10k has unexpectedly turned out to be, Murphy has no actual interest in fucking him. But, if Zs are no longer a threat to his charge, then the young man’s job will certainly become easier. Ten will have to settle for that instead.

10k being his personal bodyguard lets them be in close proximity to one another – be _alone_ together – without raising suspicion, too. What more could the guy want?

He needs to get back to Ten before he can pay him back, though, and standing here at this crossroads pondering which way to go isn’t going to do the man any good on that front. Murphy and his Princess cannot watch out for each other if they don’t know where the other is, if they are not side by side.

Smirk tugging at his lip, stride holding more confidence than he’s felt since Day One, the man doesn’t think as he scratches at his neck, nearing the end of the corridor.

As nice as it would be to hold the title of the Saviour of Humanity for real, there’s another title he feels he’ll be more content to have bestowed upon him.

A simpler one.

One that no one else has to know.

_Ten’s Saviour_.

Murphy turns right.

It’s a subliminal space, separate from existence, a life lived between seconds.

Murphy walks behind the pack as they flow around corner after corner, moving as one.

It would be easy to stay, to hide amongst them for just a little bit longer and just keep walking. Walk away from the compound, away from this suicide mission of Garnett’s, away from his own certain death. But, as something burns along his nerves, itches beneath his skin, prickling along his neck, he knows that this isn’t is where he belongs. That this isn’t what he wants.

So, he pulls away from them, strikes out on his own.

Alone now, he wanders even more aimlessly despite turning corners and taking crossroads by his own volition, hardly giving any consideration to what may lay in wait for him. Sure, the occasional Z crosses his path, but it does little more than briefly falling in behind him, trailing in his wake for a few short heartbeats before it’s pulled away by the distant cries of the still living.

Onward he strides, uncomfortably alone, planning neither his movement nor his route, falling back on his knowledge that he only needs to keep moving – keep searching – for 10k. Weary blue eyes slide over his surroundings, catching on nothing as all around him blurs together. Just this morning, a few short hours ago, this very place had been filled with life; filled with hope.

Such joy will alight this place nevermore.

He’s in another corridor, now, one as dreary and empty as all those before, though this one has windows lining one wall, a solitary door standing opposite, ever vigilant. Bloody smears stain the long bar handle, a blemish left behind in desperation before being dragged along the wall with a streak that speaks for the fate of their painter. Yet still the door stands shut, uncaring in it’s eternal watch, disinterested by its own fate.

A fate to remain unopened evermore.

Murphy sighs, rubbing at his face, neck prickling as he takes in the sticky smears. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he acting so downright morbid? Not only is he an adult, he’s also the damn Saviour of Humanity! So why is he acting like a melodramatic teenager that recently discovered the works of Poe?

Williams, the head honcho in this compound, had thought the place unconquerable. But now? That clearly groundless self confidence has led to the death of any and all stupid enough to believe him. Yes, it’s sad, and yes, their fate is an unpleasant one, but that has nothing to do with Murphy! He isn’t the kind to care about others, to worry about what their own actions will inevitably bring down upon them.

And this door before him? It’s just that – a door. Thick and heavy, a metal crash bar holding its lock tightly shut. It’s an emergency exit, not a chamber door: there will be no rapping or tapping, no ominous bird, and certainly no radiant maiden who–

_Thud!_

Murphy lurches back, heart thumping hard as a snarl and a growl shake the door. He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t thought that a Z would be so aggressive around him. Not unless there is someone else nearby. Someone the undead wanted to destroy.

He nears the door but stops short, hesitant, unsure of how to proceed.

A clatter as something heavy hits the door; a grunt of pain followed by a hissed growl cut short. Then panting, panting, panting.

He could turn his back.

_prickling_

Walk away.

_itching_

No one would ever know.

**_burning_ **

A growl of his own tearing from his lips, Murphy slams into the crash bar, the door swinging open. He thrusts a hand blindly outside, gripping onto a shirt and yanking the person inside. Into safety. As the lock clicks securely back into place, he turns to the figure regaining their balance, blue eyes taking them in.

A mess of sweat-drenched black hair over piercing grey eyes; blue silk pulled up to obscure a youthful face, fluttering with each ragged breath; grey camo and glinting knife, bloodstained and gore slicked.

“…10k?”

But the young man doesn’t respond. Doesn’t seem to have understood his voice. Those grey eyes, unfocused and distant and dazed, their pupils blown wide. Staring. He’s just staring. But not like that woman from the bathroom. This is different. This is something else. This is too much like–

No.

No, Murphy’s not even going to entertain that ridiculous thought. Because that silken scarf is fluttering, breaths coming heavy, a bit unsteady, but still coming all the same.

Murphy lifts his hands, taking his time, determined not to spook the young man, and tugs that comforting blue back down, revealing that pretty face. “Don’t cover up like that, Ten. You look like something else. Something… not you.”

The knife slips from 10k’s grip, then, clattering to the ground. Hands gingerly rise, blood spattered fingers sliding over Murphy’s clean, cupping the man’s hands as he straightens the scarf, tucking a corner in here, smoothing an edge out there. And as he hums, satisfied with a job well done, he sees it. The flash of recognition in Ten’s eyes, dull grey sparking back to life.

“You’re okay… You’re okay… Found you n’ you’re okay…”

The relief flooding into his voice makes Murphy’s chest tighten.

_He really does care about me…_

“Yeah, Princess. I’m right here. You found me and I’m okay.” Slowly, carefully, Murphy extracts his hands from Ten’s before tenderly wiping away a droplet of blood high on the young man’s cheek. “And so are you.”

Focusing on the man’s reassuring words and soothing tone, 10k simply nods, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Tugging a handkerchief loose from his jacket pocket, Murphy takes those bloodied hands in his own. Slow, even strokes down each finger, playing attention to each manicured nail, filed obsessively in their perfection. Turns the hand to expose the palm, smooth circles drawn over rough callouses, a rare gentleness in a hard life. It’s not perfect. Of course, it’s not. Murphy knows that he would never be able to truly clean off these hands of 10k’s, but he had to try anyway. He had given his best. All he can do is hope that will be enough.

It’s a good thing that he had had his knife, though. If Ten had been as unarmed as Garnett and Williams had wanted him to be; if he had been left declawed and defenceless and alone; if he had came stalking deep into this fucking death trap of a forsaken compound looking for Murphy–

“Cassandra?”

10k’s voice rings clear, granting mercy from such thoughts, and now it’s Murphy’s turn to feel that intoxicatingly sweet rush of relief. Ten is alert once more, glancing up and down the corridor, bright eyed and bushy tailed, looking all the more like the little shit of a sniper that the man has come to adore.

“She’s not with me. Last I saw her, she was taking cover with Doc.”

At that, the young man’s lip twitches, threatening to pull back with a suggestion of a snarl. And Murphy doesn’t think, doesn’t ponder, doesn’t scheme. He just acts, instinctive and self-assured. Cupping Ten’s face with one hand, he forces grey eyes to focus on him, quenching that spark of anger before it has a chance to fully flame.

“10k. She tried her best to get to me. She really did. But there were too many Zs. I had to run.” A thumb strokes along a soft cheek, smudging another small spattering of blood. “Ten. Cassandra didn’t break your trust.”

His thoughtful nod dislodging the man’s hand, 10k stoops low to snatch up his knife, on high alert and fully aware of their surroundings while absently scrubbing the blood from the blade with Murphy’s now tarnished handkerchief. Even performing such a menial task doesn’t cause his guard to drop because people like 10k? They find it hard to open up, to allow themselves to be vulnerable, to allow themselves to rely on others. They don’t _trust_ easily. And after years on his own and weeks of awkwardness around Murphy’s escort, 10k had finally done it. Finally let people in. Finally begun to trust again.

Only for it to be broken so soon.

And as a chorus of growl and snarls rings out from down the corridor, one signalling the arrival of a cavalcade of enraged Zs that shamble swiftly around the corner, Murphy knows that it isn’t Cassandra that has broken the young man’s hard-won trust.

Sparing no thought for himself, 10k drops into a defensive stance, yelling at Murphy to run, to find the others, that he’ll hold the Zs off for as long as he can. And the man doesn’t listen – why would he? – instead reaching to once more grasp grey camo. Because 10k is better than this. Better than meeting a gruesome end protecting an ‘asset’ in an ineffectual leader’s suicide mission. He deserves to be more than a forgotten side character in _Garnett’s_ fucking story. A creature as beautiful and deadly as his own dear Ten Thousand would be worth so much more standing by the side of the Saviour of Humanity, following Murphy’s orders and Murphy’s orders alone.

It doesn’t matter how skilled someone is in combat if they’re caught completely off guard in such a spectacular fashion as Ten is by Murphy. The cherry on the top of the manhandled cake is how slight in build the young man is, Murphy’s much larger frame receiving little in the way of resistance as the man bundles him up and shoves him to the side. Ten’s back is slammed into the wall, Murphy firmly pressing his body flush against him, bracketing the young man in with his arms. And 10k doesn’t fight back – doesn’t have time to. The horde are already upon them, the corridor thick with the scent of death. Seeing no way out for them, Ten grips onto the lapels of Murphy’s jacket, burying his face into the man’s chest.

Whatever fate he believed had been likely to befall them, it doesn’t come to pass: the Zs don’t even spare them a second glance. Well, they don’t even spare 10k a first one, masked as he is by the man he’d been willing to die to save.

Murphy has held 10k in his arms on a few occasions, now. To comfort him when they’d thought they’d lost Doc. To reassure him that nothing would change between them when he’d unintentionally outed himself. To soothe him when he’d been haunted by nightmares before coaxing him into a more peaceful sleep.

It’s strange, these feelings that are beginning to stir within the man: Murphy has never been the type to protect others but maybe… Maybe he’s just never found anyone who’d make him want to be.

The corridor is clear, the swarm of the undead having long passed them by with little consequence. He should probably move away, release the young man from his embrace. As saddened as a part of him deep down inside is, they cannot stay like this forever. He’ll have to face the music eventually, but for now he’ll do what he can to delay it until they have escaped to relative safety.

With a gentle ruffle of 10k’s hair, the man step back, drinks him in. Pale eyes are wide, dark brows are low, the picture-perfect expression of confusion doing nothing to sully such a pleasing face. As easy as the eyes on Ten has pleasantly turned out to be, Murphy has no actual, real interest in him, but… But, maybe, when they’re out of here;

“They didn’t notice us?”

when that unavoidable conversation has come and gone;

“They didn’t notice you…”

if 10k has found it in himself to understand – to accept – whatever it is that Murphy is slowly becoming…

“Why?”

Then, well, maybe giving in to this remarkable creature just once, bestowing upon him what he’s so eagerly sough since Castle Point, wouldn’t be too herculean a task for the man. After all, it’s only a kiss, right?

_Kissing 10k wouldn’t be so bad…_

“Look, Ten. I know you think highly of my intellect and all – and rightly so! – but I’m as much in the dark on this one as you are. Only just found out about it, myself, and, as convenient as it’s turned out to be, I’m not sure that this is the time and place to hold that discussion.”

As the words tumble from his mouth, Murphy’s voice holds the only confidence to be found in his body. Because this has to work. He has to delay the conversation until he can be sure that the young man will be on his side. And he has to get his own thoughts in order before he sets about his attempts to convince him.

His gambit appears to have paid off.

Striding forward to plant himself squarely – _nonchalantly_ – back into the man’s personal space, 10k accepts his proposition without argument, casually lifting coarse hands to fold the man’s collar back down, smoothing it into place. “Need to find Cassandra.”

And that’s it. No freak out, no awkward questions, nothing. He simply takes Murphy as he finds him, knowing that if it’s important then they’ll be able to discuss later, once they’re both ready. Just like how Murphy had accepted 10k.

_Maybe that’s why I want to protect him…_

They hurry down the corridor, heading away from where the horde had shambled, the young man taking the lead, knife confidently in hand. Allowing his Princess to pull away slightly ahead, Murphy takes a moment to enjoy the view.

A man like Garnett doesn’t deserve the adoration of someone like Ten. Doesn’t deserve the trust he had so quickly broken. He pretends that he’s looking out for all those around him, that he has their best interests at heart. But Murphy can see through such a pathetic façade: the only thing he _truly_ cares about is his damn _Mission_.

Fuck, that callous bastard had even gone so far as to threaten Murphy by threatening 10k, saying that if the young man so much as dared to get too close – whatever Garnett’s definition of that may be – then the Sergeant might have to kill him!

That soldier wants so desperately to be a leader, to be adored by all those beneath him. Well, they say that the best leaders always lead by example.

If he’s so hellbent on sacrificing people in the name of his ‘Mission’, then perhaps everyone’s beloved _Charlie Garnett_ should start with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly died; didn't die.
> 
> Wrote this: enjoy.
> 
> Until next time.
> 
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Addy and Mack share the love.
> 
> Then, Murphy gets a hug.
> 
> Finally, Cassandra has a reunion.

Cassandra doesn’t want to die.

Her hand shakes in Addy’s, the redhead pulling her in closer, the comforting warmth of her and Mack’s trembling bodies a distraction.

A distraction from the oppressive heat of the other people trapped and screaming in this dead end of a hallway.

A distraction from the Zs crowding them in closer together, the undead tearing their way through the back ranks.

A distraction from the knowledge that this is it. The end of the line. That she won’t be getting out of this one alive.

Cassandra doesn’t want to die, but she understands that this isn’t something that she gets to decide. Everyone has to die eventually: Cassandra knows this; accepts this. But that doesn’t mean she has to go willingly, that she wouldn’t give anything for just one more day; to see one more dawn.

These people who have taken her in, who consider her one of their own, even knowing the horrors that she had resorted to in the name of her own survival. Garnett, with his paternal eyes watching over them all. Warren, with her barked orders, well meaning in their abruptness. Doc, with his carefree attitude and calming voice. Addy and Mack, who have pulled her in close, her hands gripped tightly in theirs as they share with her the affirmations of their love. Love that they whisper back and forth, their voices quivering though their hearts beat steady. Love that they are determined to let be the thing that consumes their last few moments. Love that they have drawn her into, refusing to let her die alone.

These people, the ones she proudly calls her family: _they_ are the reason why she had found the courage – the strength – to start living again, giving her own life a purpose beyond simply surviving.

But 10k?

Sweet 10k who had held her tenderly in his arms, listening to her as she had aired her traumas, only to then open up to her about his own in return.

Brave 10k who has remained standing firm in his dogged yet discreet pursuit of Murphy despite the man’s obliviousness to his own gradually returning affections, and all in defiance of Garnett’s paternal disapproval.

Compassionate 10k had wordlessly taken it upon himself to slay the monsters that had kidnapped Addy and held her to ransom, monsters who then attempted to imprison Cassandra in her own past. And once their blood had been wiped clean from his blade, Ten had desired neither reward nor recognition for his labours.

If Garnett is the reason _why_ she had found both the courage and the strength to start living again, then 10k is the _how_.

So, no: Cassandra doesn’t want to die.

But it’s not because she fears her own death. She’d come to terms with her own mortality a long time ago; had accepted the inevitability – the _imminence_ – of her own demise the moment that she’d taken Addy’s place in Tobias’s compound. As far as Cassandra is concerned, these moments she’s spent still breathing at 10k’s side have been a gift, her continuing survival existing entirely on borrowed time. Time she’s been lucky enough to share with such wonderful, loving people. People that have reminded her what it means to be human.

And _that’s_ why she doesn’t want to die.

Because, if she dies here – if they _all_ die here – trapped in this dead end of a hallway then what will happen to 10k?

She tightens her grip in Addy’s hand, burying her face in Mack’s chest, his jacket smothering the cry, strangled and angry and _powerless_ , that tears its way out of her throat.

Cassandra doesn’t want to die here – _cannot_ die here! – because she can’t let Ten be left alone again.

Addy tugs her closer, pulling Cassandra’s head down towards her shoulder, but it doesn’t connect. Mack jerks backwards, lurching away, his strong grip on both young women dragging them along with him. His hand slips from hers, the redhead now the only thing keeping Cassandra upright. But the movement doesn’t stop, both women tumbling towards the door, the open door. They spill out into the light, Addy’s hand wrenching from hers. Cassandra stumbles under her momentum, the ground rushing up to meet her.

But she doesn’t land.

A hand, all black gloves and manicured nails, grips onto her wrist, slowing her fall. An arm, strong and slender and clad in grey, wraps around her ribs. They yank her up and swoop her away, then the is arm dropping, the hand loosening, leaving, as she’s pressed into a firm chest. Screwing her eyes shut, relief floods through Cassandra as she locks her own arms around his waist, gripping onto his shirt.

With her heart still in her throat, she fights to force her words out. “It’s okay. I’m here, Ten. I’m still here.”

An arm works its way around her shoulders, holding her close, calming her down.

At least, until a gruff voice rumbles up from the chest her head is resting upon.

“Tell him yourself, sweetheart.”

Cassandra pulls back, glancing up and meeting Murphy’s eyes for the briefest of moments before the man turns his attention behind her. Mack and Doc are grunting, struggling to hold the door shut as 10k shoves a heavy looking wooden cross through the handrails. As the men release the door, the cross holds, only allowing it to open enough for the Zs’ hands and growls to escape.

The door secure and his task complete, 10k immediately descends upon Cassandra, walking in a tight circle around her once, twice, checking her over for any obvious injuries. When he’s content with her sufficiently unharmed state, a relieved sigh escapes her lips as he pulls her into a quick hug.

And she feels safe. Protected. More secure in his arms than she’s ever felt elsewhere.

“I’m okay, Ten. I’m okay.”

Now released, a clearing throat draws her attention. Garnett grimaces at the door before casting his eyes around the group. “How do we get out of here?”

Not that he gets an answer, everyone still too flustered from their brush with death. His own eyes scanning the kid, easing his paternal worries, the Sergeant addresses 10k. “Ten. How have you and Murphy been getting around?”

But the kid doesn’t answer. Hell, he doesn’t even turn to face him, deigning only to cast a sidelong glance the man’s way before slotting himself protectively between Cassandra and Murphy. With Garnett dismissed with a finality that makes Murphy smirk, Ten lifts his eyes to scan along the rooftops, his hand shifting its grip on his knife.

Wait, a knife? 10k’s armed?

The fresh stains of red peppering the kid’s sleeves don’t escape anyone’s notice for long and, judging from how Garnett’s jaw tightens, his face dropping with a frown, Ten’s blade doesn’t escape the Sergeant’s attention, either. “You’re armed? Where did you find it?”

10k’s eyes never drop from the rooftops. “Mine.”

“It’s yours? You snuck in a weapon?”

The disappointment in Garnett’s tone is incontestable. Not that it stops Warren, the Lieutenant stepping forward, face set firm with a determination of her own. “And we’re glad you did. Who knows what would have happened if you’d gone searching for Murphy unarmed. You did good, Rambo.”

10k’s eyes finally drop from the rooftops, the kid flashing Warren a quick, grateful smile before glancing Murphy’s way. The man’s face is twisted into that arrogant smirk of his, clearly delighted at how the dissent in the ranks even reaches as high as Warren.

“From what Princess and I have seen, those freaky cult bastards are all armed. It’d probably be wise for you lot to take a page or two outta his prepper guidebook and arm up before someone gets killed.”

At Garnett’s scowl, Ten shifts, placing himself firmly between the Sergeant and the source of his ire. The man’s brows drop, his mouth downturned even further, clearly not impressed by how the kid had so quickly sided with Murphy. But before any tension has time to build, Warren lifts a hand to gently squeeze at Garnett’s arm as she speaks. “We need to head for the truck, grabbing any weapons we find on the way. Stay quiet, stay together. Let’s go.”

And with Warren leaving no room for argument, they’re on the move, Addy and Mack leading the charge as they round the corner of the building, Cassandra trailing behind 10k as–

“Freeze!”

–as a gun cocks, the cult members grinning at their new prey.

“Greeting, Brothers and Sisters. The Resurrection Church welcomes you.”

Cassandra’s stomach lurches – she’s already stared down one barrel today, and she’s had enough dealings with cults to last her a lifetime. She’s not sticking around long enough to deal with another. Her hand slowly creeps out, sliding into Ten’s. He casts her a curious glance but quickly catches on, his other hand sneaking out to grip Murphy’s wrist. The man doesn’t turn, his attention seemingly on the monologuing cultist, but his eyes flicker towards the kid. And once he’s seen them, once she’s sure Murphy has coined on to their intentions, once the man’s hand is more securely held in Ten’s, she moves.

Turning on her heel, she sprints back around the building, dragging the two men along behind her.

They don’t stop running until all the young woman can hear is her blood rushing in her ears.

The kid’s boots pad down the hallway, each footfall as premeditated as it is silent.

This is something that Cassandra has witnessed many times, trailing in his wake as he scouts out buildings and clears up any Zs. It really is bizarre, seeing him when he works so seriously: the way his innocent façade melts away as his body language shifts, becoming more predatory; his movements slipping into something fluid, his limbs more limber; his grey eyes darkening, their piercing gaze scanning his surroundings for any trace of his chosen prey.

Deep down, part of her knows that the only reason she’s able to witness such a phenomenon is because he wills it. Anything unlucky enough to draw the attention of such a creature wouldn’t be privy to his presence until it was too late.

Yeah, she’s seen this change in the kid many times, but as his footfalls halt at the next corner, his head tilting slightly to the side, Cassandra sees the one thing that she had hoped to never see again. Something she hasn’t seen since Philadelphia.

Gloved fingers tugging up blue silk to obscure his face.

Then, the kid lowers his stance, slipping soundlessly around the corner.

Without a word, Cassandra picks up her pace and, as her friend comes back into view, the young woman’s fingers sink into the leather of Murphy’s jacket. The kid had skulked up behind an armed cultist, the man blissfully unaware of his predator until a gloved hand clamps harshly over his mouth. Not that the man could have made a sound, shouting to draw attention or call for backup. He doesn’t even have the chance to scream. The kid’s other hand arcs up a split second behind the first, his knife effortlessly slicing through skin and muscle and sinew, the last few startled beats of a heart splattering blood along the wall. The cultist starts to drop, hands relinquishing his rifle to instead grasp vainly at his gaping throat. Not that he hits the floor. The kid shunts him into the wall, thrusting his knife harshly upwards into the base of his prey’s skull, severing nerves and killing the brain.

Only then does the kid allow the cultist to fall to the ground, pressing a boot onto his head for leverage as he yanks his knife free.

Cassandra can’t speak. She can barely breathe. It’s not the hard lines of the kid’s face that have sucked all the air from her lungs. Rather, it’s his eyes. Those grey eyes, ones she’s seen filled with warmth, filled with joy, maybe even filled with _love_. Now, those eyes she’s grown so fond of are empty and lifeless, iced over windows into a body without a soul.

Lip curling, Murphy doesn’t hesitate to stomp down the hallway, swiftly closing the gap between himself and the kid, ripping the scarf from his face with a snarl. “I told you not to do that, Ten.”

The man’s abruptness startles 10k, the spark of shock reigniting his eyes before quickly fading to shame. With a small, sheepish nod, he cleans off his knife on the dead man’s shirt before scooping up the rifle and giving it a once over.

“Is it any good, Ten?” At Cassandra’s words, the kid finally looks over towards her, giving a gentle nod, although his eyes are unable to quite meet her own. “Do you think you can do this? Make the shot?”

A slight frown tugs his lips down as he lifts the rifle, peering through the scope. “I have to.”

And in swoops Murphy, the man’s hands self-assured as they lift to Ten’s scarf, folding here and tucking there, the silk soon graceful in its presentation once more. When Murphy is finally satisfied with his compulsive handiwork, he turns to Cassandra, giving her a calculating look. “You can drive, right?”

“Been a few years, but yeah, I can.”

“Sure, sure…” Scratching at his beard, Murphy looks at 10k, blue eyes holding grey for slightly longer than the young woman feels is necessary. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, then. Cassandra, take the knife and get the truck. I’ll stick with Ten, here, make sure he can get the shot.”

Now it’s Cassandra’s turn to frown. “You sure you wanna stay? It’ll be safer outside in the truck.”

10k stops fiddling with the rifle, casting a quick smile the young woman’s way. “I’ll protect him.”

With a grin of his own, Murphy ruffles the kid’s hair. “Looking forward to it, Princess.”

As Cassandra sneaks down hallway after hallway, equally relieved and apprehensive by the lack of still living Zs, she tugs at the necklace stashed safely under her shirt. In her other hand, the knife’s blade is well balanced and sharpened to the expected perfection. She doesn’t notice it, though, not even comprehending the blood marring the handle, still warm as it sticks to her fingers.

No, her thoughts are elsewhere, an image still burning bright within her mind.

Those eyes. They weren’t right. Weren’t _10k’s_.

No, those eyes belonged to Ten Thousand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time as I haven't been able to upload for a while. There will be one more chapter for this story, then we'll begin on the next. The reason for the delay is, well, we all know what episode this is. I needed to wait until my head was in a better spot to write.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Until next time.
> 
> <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything falls apart
> 
> and Murphy tries to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly this defeat.  
> This rain.  
> The blues gone gray  
> And the browns gone gray  
> And yellow  
> A terrible amber.  
> In the cold streets  
> Your warm body.  
> In whatever room  
> Your warm body.  
> Among all the people  
> Your absence  
> The people who are always  
> Not you.
> 
> I have been easy with trees  
> Too long.  
> Too familiar with mountains.  
> Joy has been a habit.  
> Now  
> Suddenly  
> This rain.
> 
> \-- Jack Gilbert

People don’t look up.

They just _don’t._

It’s something that has always confused 10k, his own eyes drawn instinctively – _compulsively_ – above the horizon to scale the sheer cliffs of urban sprawl. From what he’s witnessed during his wanderings, a great number of people either pay no heed to what’s above them or just straight up fail to register anything that falls outside of their direct line of sight. As useful as this fault of theirs has turned out to be for him, he cannot help but feel a twinge of sadness for them – it’s the reason so many of them are no longer counted among the living.

The kid supposes that it’s just one of many things that sets him apart, marking him as inherently different from others: 10k always looks up.

Because Tommy had always looked up.

Tommy would spend his younger days whittling away the hours gazing up at the verdant greens of home. He’s always done it, looking up, something that comes as naturally to him as breathing. Maybe, though, it’s because it was a habit that Pa had always praised, reinforcing the behaviour with his fatherly approval. He’d always instilled in his son the importance of remaining unblinkered to his environment, after all. The habit became second nature as the constant need to remain ever vigilant of his surroundings became ingrained on his very being. It’s a custom so deep-rooted in his psyche that even now it persists, taking precedent in 10k’s routines and rituals.

Now more than ever the kid is grateful for this habit; one that has served him well during this Apocalypse. As he’d gradually wandered further afield from the forests and mountains that he used to call his home, the flatter lands as he migrated eastwards had blessed him with so many new and marvellous sights. With nothing to now obscure his view, the kid had borne witness to new horizons; new skies. Over the gentle roiling of green and brown hung a striking blue, an endless caerulean ocean beckoning him ever onwards. As he’d trudged through fields and down long forgotten dirt trails, the colours had shifted, darkened. Downward pressed the violets and indigoes, extinguishing the reds and golds that had ignited the skyline. And as the black finally settled in, bringing with a twinkling of stars, so too had the kid, huddling up in a hastily constructed bivouac. With his blanket wrapped securely around him and Jeff’s scarf tucked under his chin, he’d drifted off peacefully while gazing up into the inky abyss that will forever hold a place in his heart.

This habit of looking up had still been indulged on the occasions he’d found himself with company. The kid still vividly remembers when he’d spied a lively flock of _Plegadis falcinellus_ wheeling over the salt marches of coastal Connecticut. Not that ibis had served to distract him from the cowboy eyeing him up for too long.

In Philadelphia, too: as Garnett and Warren had deliberated their route through the city, the kid had hauled himself up onto the truck’s roof to keep a lookout, smiling as he idly watched _Chaetura pelagica_ flutter about the rooftops. Chimney swifts aren’t a bird he grew up with, but they are one that he’d quickly become fascinated with. They spend most of their day airborne, always active, always moving. And when it finally came time to roost, they clung to the walls of buildings. They have long claws, lengthier than those of most birds, leaving them unable to perch.

That’s another benefit of him looking up while others don’t. Ledges; windows; balconies: cities and their buildings are home to so many high up nooks and crannies on which he can perch, lying patiently in wait for his prey. It had been like this the first time, hadn’t it? Just as the cultists holding his friends at gun point haven’t looked up, neither had Garnett back at the school.

The kid had only just arrived himself, unable to finish clearing out the Zs or size up the girl in the cage before he’d spotted the truck trundling its way over the horizon. That soldier – the one who died there – had been first to dismount, and even _he_ hadn’t looked up as he performed a perfunctory sweep of the area. If the only enemy he’d been expecting had been Zs, that may be the cause of his complacency, though that could only explain it, not excuse it. For someone who worked the Government, that soldier’s work was sloppy, and the kid had hardly been impressed.

His interest in the newcomers encroaching on his hunting grounds had been reignited as the others had leapt from the truck. Not one of them had looked up, of course, but that hadn’t mattered too much. Not once he’d seen Garnett.

The first thing that had struck him about the man had been how handsome he is. Broad shoulders, thick chest, a beard both dense and neatly trimmed. Yeah, the kid had been interested from the moment Garnett had graced his scope, his lip curling to bare sharp teeth as he thought about getting to know him. Strange how differently things had turned out to be between him and the Sergeant, though. Not something that the kid could have predicted.

But Murphy?

Now, _that_ had been easier for the kid to see coming.

Just like Garnett, the man is tall and broad, a coarse beard of his own delighting his handsome face. Unlike Garnett, however, Murphy had been proudly displaying his arrogance from the get-go. The kid hadn’t been able to discern his words but then, he hadn’t needed to. That now dead soldier had been armed, yet Murphy had sassed and scowled away, not letting his own lack of a weapon deter him. No matter how much the soldier had snarled, the handsome man hadn’t backed down, holding firm until a rifle had been shoved into his face.

And in that moment, those beautiful few seconds that only Ten Thousand had witnessed, Murphy hadn’t cowered like so many others would have. No, the man had _smiled_. Because he’d gotten under the soldier’s skin; because he had made such a disciplined man snap; because Murphy had _won_. And as that now familiar smirk had filled his scope, the kid had felt it. The tight coil in his lower abdomen, the way his teeth began to itch, then that tingling radiating outwards and upwards from deep underneath that mark on his side. And as it had crept its way up the kid’s neck, making the small hairs prickle, that arrogant man had done two things.

The first: he’d wrenched his arm out of that soldier’s grip to scratch at his neck.

The second: he’d looked up.

Sure, the kid’s scarf had been draped over his shoulders and the sun at his back had made the man squint, both thwarting any chance Murphy had had at spotting him on his perch, but that’s beside the point. That beautifully arrogant man that had wandered unwittingly into the kid’s crosshairs had _looked up_. No one ever looks up; no one except the kid himself. And as he’d lain there on the roof, watching as the others saved Cassandra from the cage before scouring the school grounds for any supplies, he’d let himself wonder.

Murphy had looked up, so maybe – just _maybe_ – the kid had actually found it. The one thing he’d never had enough hope to dream of. The one thing that he thought he’d never find. That maybe it could mean that Ten Thousand isn’t alone in this world.

That maybe Murphy is just like him.

Garnett’s group had been larger than the ones that Ten Thousand still felt comfortable infiltrating but, when Doc had been struggling with that Z, he decided to take a calculated risk. Sniping the Z and letting himself be seen, the kid had known that a group that had saved a stranger from a cage then taken her with them would no doubt offer him a lift in return for saving one of their own. Oldest trick in the book, that one, which is why it’s favoured by bandits and marauders Apocalypse-wide.

And that’s how 10k had ended up here, once more laying on a roof, enthralled by Murphy’s fanning arrogance, though this time he’s waiting until he has a good shot on the cult leader holding his friends hostage. They’re on their knees by the zombie cage, relatively unharmed but as shaken as he’d expect for people being held at gunpoint. Garnett is frowning, probably still on edge from having a knife held to his throat by that crazy priest. The kid feels a bit guilty about that – if he hadn’t been so irritated with the man then he might have been able to prevent this, suggesting a stealthier alternative to simply running through the compound.

But, no. His anger had reared its ugly head once more. It’s a problem that he’s always had, this all-consuming flame. He’d had more of a handle on it pre-Z, but he’s since allowed his control to lapse, that heat mutating into something harder, colder, as he’d became determined to outlive this Apocalypse alone. Since joining this group – since making these _friends_ – he’s been once more making a conscious effort to bring himself to heel and retain control, even if that meant venting his frustrations by taking out more Zs.

Today, though.

Today has been stressful, to say the least, and he’d regretfully taken it out on the man who’s taken him in.

So, yeah, 10k feels a twinge of guilt about this, but he’s not going to apologise to Charlie. Apologising isn’t something that the kid does. Instead, he’ll make up for it later, once they’re all safe, then make sure to not allow it to happen again.

Shifting his focus, he peers through his scope at Murphy, drinking in how he’s smirking in that way that pushes all those delicious buttons that he hides away deep down. When Ten had selected the best building from which to take his shot, the man had offered to help shove him up the wall to grasp onto the edge of the roof. That Murphy had chosen his ass of all places to be where he grabs to give him leverage had not escaped the kid’s notice. Ten hadn’t had time to bring it up, though, Murphy wordlessly scurrying off to get in position to cause a distraction.

But Ten _had_ taken the time to make note of how firmly the man’s large hands had squeezed at the muscle, the warmth of his fingers so easily penetrating his pants and sinking into the eager flesh beneath. If Murphy still insists on denying him, then 10k is going to savour this particular memory once he manages to secure himself adequate alone time…

The cult leader is agitated, shifting back and forth on his feet as his flock close ranks around him. Murphy has caused a distraction, alright, sauntering in from behind the zombie cage with his usual arrogance, head held high and arms aloft. Ten cannot hear the words of the priest nor the no doubt delicious response from his handsome charge. Even using his scope is useless, the lenses too blurred for him to read Murphy’s lips. Garnett had inspected it, saying his rifle is well maintained and not noticing any fault, so the problem has persisted.

If 10k had ever needed more motivation to work out the root of his little problem, then this would be it.

These words. He wants to know Murphy’s words.

With one more glance at that freaky priest, Ten pulls back from his scope. Murphy is too tempting a source of pleasure to take that shot and end this just yet.

The man’s act, whatever the narrative he’d eventually decided upon may be, is in full swing. There is a swagger in his step, his whole being oozing confidence. With every tilt of his head, jut of his hips, and flourish of his hands, he commands his audience, demanding their full attention. At least now 10k knows why the man exudes such arrogance. The kid may his own set of games to play but with particular one, Murphy is fully within his element. If the man is the one who gets to make the rules, then it’s only natural that that he’ll be the one to win.

With the performance he’s giving; with the role he’s playing; with the control he’s exerting… 10k has never wanted a man more. Because if he’s ever able to entice the man enough – to _seduce_ him – then once that bedroom door closes, once they’re alone, once Murphy realises that he’s not going to be the one calling the shots…

10k will relish in how he makes that arrogant man surrender. Makes him submit.

But the most beautiful part of all of this? The thing that he is yearning for the most. With how conceited the path Murphy cuts through life is, only _they_ will know who is really in charge. Who actually wields the power and has control.

Murphy’s display is hypnotic, his chin tilting upwards and an arrogant curl on his lip. He’s even thrown his shirt wide open, his bites and scars visible for the whole world to see. And 10k remembers. Remembers the rough texture of the man’s skin under his inquisitive fingers; remembers the way those haughty blue eyes had come alive as curious hands explored his marred torso; remembers how he himself had vainly wondered if Murphy could one day allow Ten to leave a mark of his own…

The kid flexes his jaw, his train of though igniting that burn deep in his belly. As soon as this is over, once they’re safe and back on the road–

Murphy staggering backwards.

Garnett lurching upwards.

A gunshot ringing out.

_No._

As Charlie falls, a flower beginning to blossom upon his chest, the priest’s flock raise their weapons. Grabbing his own, 10k doesn’t have to think as he aims at the nearest guard and fires. Two in the chest to kill the man; one in the head to kill the Z.

_No, no, no, no!_

Charlie crumples to ground, the colour already draining from his face. As Warren pulls him into her arms, the Sergeant’s eyes lift, the disbelief morphing into pain and regret. A hand lifts, reaching out, but it’s quickly snatched away by the woman’s own.

And Ten’s eyes burn.

Because the man had finally noticed him. Had finally seen him clearly. Yet he still thought the kid worthy enough to be sought out, still tried to pull him close.

Because Charlie had finally looked up.

Tommy will never forget it, the first time he’d seen something die from a gunshot. And he’s fine with that. The deer and elk he hunts for supplies and trade, the goats and bighorns for food, and even the black bear for furs when money is more tight. Their deaths are not for a cruel or callous purpose, rather nature taking its course. In their last moments, he stays by their side.

For what they’re being made to sacrifice, he owes them that much.

On his first few hunts, only a boy of ten, his shots had been sloppy. Those poor animals hadn’t been left to suffer for long, however, Pa giving them mercy before they’d had a chance to disappear into the trees where they’d collapse from exhaustion before slowly bleeding out. That’s why he’d practised so diligently: allowing something to suffer, especially for his own gain, is wrong. With such strong determination lighting a fire in his belly, he’d quickly improved. Soon after, each successful hunt ended with the animal dead before the sound of his gunshot could ever hope to reach its ears. And every single time, much to Pa’s amusement, Tommy would spend a few moments calmly watching the animal drawing in its last few peaceful breaths before taking his shot, feeling some comfort in how it’s blissfully unaware of its own imminent end.

Humans aren’t so lucky.

And yet, all Tommy can do is watch from his perch, his scope indifferent to the harshness of its newfound clarity.

Watch as the man pulls Warren close, the movement of his lips translating into words that burn themselves into Tommy’s mind.

Watch as Warren is frantically pulled away, leaving the man lying in the grass, mournful eyes once more seeking Tommy out.

Watch as his body begins to twitch and convulse

the virus hijacking his mind

rewiring it

As what used to be the man he loves so dearly lurches upwards, once kindly eyes now hollow and inhuman, Tommy raises his rifle, taking aim. With this animal, there are no final few breaths to observe.

Tommy squeezes the trigger.

Gives Pa the mercy he deserves.

The priest is glancing around again, though his eyes never lift above the horizon. Those people had all escaped, scuttling off into the trees beyond the perimeter fence. His plan scuppered, the priest scowls at the pitiful remains of his unholy flock.

His guard is down, believing himself to be alone with the remaining few he commands.

Yet another belief of his that is wrong.

Today, that priest had committed a sin, one that is so much more unforgivable than such a fanatical mind could ever hope to understand.

Garnett is a good man. No, _was_ a good man. That selfless man had his own congregation, his own flock. But he didn’t treat them like servants. To him, they were family. Family that have now lost their patriarch. Their _father_.

_This_ is the priest’s sin. A sin Ten Thousand will gladly punish him for.

How many guards has he left himself with? Only three? The others, he’d sent out to try and round up any of the escaping Province Town survivors that they can. If the priest hadn’t so been lax with his defences, so self-assured in his own perceived victory, he wouldn’t have made this so easy.

Three shots ring out; three guards drop to the ground; three pierced hearts stop beating.

And as the Zs begin to rise, soulless eyes latching onto the only prey that they can see, the lone priest panics.

Runs.

Not that he gets very far.

The shot is easy, the kid taking it with a cold and calculated precision.

As his knee blows out, the priest falls.

The Zs are on him in a heartbeat, an almost gleeful brutality spurring on their ravenous feast. The tearing of flesh and the cracking of bones; the guttural screams of a man begging for his own end; the scrape of boots on tile as Ten Thousand turns his back, sliding down the roof.

He could give that false prophet the mercy he’s crying out so desperately for.

But he won’t.

Because that man is no longer human, having long ago turned his back on his own humanity. That part of him, he chose to let die, becoming something lesser than an animal, lower than a Z.

So, no.

Ten Thousand won’t give the priest mercy.

Because he doesn’t deserve it.

~*~*~

Doc clears his throat, deciding to be the one to say what they’re all likely thinking.

“Anyone else worried about the kid?”

From his silent vigil along the edge of the campfire’s halo glow, Murphy straightens up. He’s been waiting for this. Waiting to hear the young man’s inevitable judgement. And he’d known that they would wait until Ten is out of earshot to do it, the target of their condemnatory gossip having chosen to remain closer to the truck.

Closer to Warren.

Addy sighs, rubbing at tired eyes. “It’s been one hell of a fucked-up day. Can’t we just, I don’t know, give him a day or two first?”

“So, we give him some time – and then what? Just let it slide? Pretend it never happened? You saw what he did, Addy. We all did.” Mack’s voice is harsh, his tone unforgiving. No surprise there: the blond hadn’t exactly felt the need to hide his disdain for 10k from the day they first met.

“He cares about Garnett–”

“But it’s not just about today, though, is it? This isn’t the first time he’s done shit like this and you all know it.”

“Mack–”

“He shouldn’t even have come with us in the first place! I told you back in Philadelphia, didn’t I? That we should have left him in the dust. He showed us what he really is the moment he pulled that knife.”

“So did I.” Cassandra’s voice is quiet, her face solemn. Dark eyes slowly lift from the dancing flames, drifting over to the blond. “The first thing I did was press my knife into your throat. You gonna leave _me_ behind, too, Mack?”

“That’s different and you know it.” The blond’s brows are low, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Being scared is one thing, but what that kid did was something else. There’s no way it was an accident. He planned that.” Looking around at those crowded next to the fire, Mack’s face is firm, his mind unwavering, his conclusion indomitable. “He shouldn’t be with us. He’s too dangerous.”

Murphy pulls back from the circle of flickering light, not needing to hear any more.

This whole situation. It’s a mess. A real _fucking_ mess. He knew he shouldn’t have left Ten alone back there in that compound. Knew that he was still unstable, his mind teetering along the sharp precipice of his anger.

But…

But there was no way Murphy could have known what was about to happen. That things would go south so quickly. That Garnett would be willing to take a bullet for _him_ , of all people. Or that Ten could do something so cold, so heartless, so _cruel_ in front of his own family.

Cassandra had entrusted 10k to him. He’d failed then but he won’t fail now. Murphy _will_ find a means to fix this.

The man picks his way through the sparse trees, cutting a steady path to the truck. It’s where he’d left Ten, the young man hunched over in the bed, brooding. But as he arrives, as he sees that 10k has slid into the back seats with Warren, it happens.

His footsteps falter.

Murphy doesn’t break from the treeline, instead endeavouring to remain hidden in the shadows. Because Ten is talking, his whispered words intended only for the mourning woman at his side.

“…–had the shot. Shoulda taken it. I let myself get distracted… Murphy, he… Warren, I…”

Ten sighs, the dejected sound barely registering in the man’s ears.

“This is my fault…”

The door creaks open, 10k sliding out, his boots silent as they press into the dirt.

“If you want, I’ll leave.”

Brows low, he licks his lips, turning once more to the woman curled up inside.

“But if you let me stay, I won’t let it happen again. I promise.”

The door clicks shut, the one-sided conversation over.

Gloved hands rub at tired eyes before rummaging through his worn-out bag, pulling out a crumpled pack of smokes. A cigarette is quickly pulled loose, soon clasped in a frown as a lighter flickers to life. And that spark, that flame, that golden _fucking_ glow. It illuminates his face.

Ten’s face…

Those lips, the ones he’s curled into a playful snarl and lifted into a lopsided grin, now form only a lifeless line. Those eyes, their grey sometimes light as they shine with amusement, sometimes dark as he becomes more strong-willed, now empty and dull. Those brows, endlessly expressive in how they dip and weave, complimenting such a beautiful face with their dance, now lay still.

That face, so haunted and distant, staring off into the distance yet likely not even seeing the trees.

Ten shouldn’t know how to make that face.

Cassandra had entrusted her friend to him. Doc had, too. And Garnett. Which means that 10k is wrong. It hadn’t been the young man who fucked up today. Because of Murphy, something has been broken. Something unique and irreplaceable. Something _precious_.

And the man thinks he knows how to fix it.

He just hopes that he has the strength needed to do it.

Pressing his fingers into his eyes, rubbing until he sees stars, Murphy draws in a slow, steady breath. Then takes a step. Not towards the young man, but not away from him, either. Not that it matters, anyway. The purpose of the movement hadn’t been to go either way, rather to draw his Princess’s–

…To draw _10k’s_ attention.

His head turns towards him, that face shifting. It’s no longer that blank, haunted look but it’s not something Murphy knows how to name, either. It doesn’t really matter, though, not when it doesn’t even reach those once beautiful grey eyes. It doesn’t even come close.

Without any hesitation, without any doubt, a gloved hand lifts, offering the cigarette.

And Murphy?

He turns away, silent as he trudges back to the campfire. He doesn’t look back as he walks, no matter how much he wants to. No matter how much his neck prickles as those eyes burn their way into his back. He doesn’t turn – he _can’t_ turn – because he knows that, if he does, his strength will fail him. That he would cave in. Would return to the young man’s side.

_I can do this._

It’s only once he’s seated near the campfire, those flames mocking him with their dance, that he allows his traitorous eyes to drift.

_I_ have to _do this._

Flicking the remaining half of his cigarette to the forest floor, 10k grinds it under his heel before pulling his rifle into a tight embrace and climbing into the truck bed.

_It’s for his own good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah.
> 
> That happened. 
> 
> RIP Garnett.
> 
> But at least you only had to wait a few days for a new chapter... I literally spent the last two days doing nothing but writing this. I needed this bit done and out of my head.
> 
> And with this, another story comes to a close. As for the next one, a bit of forewarning - the rating will increase to M. Also, there will be some art to mark the two year anniversary of me writing the first idea that eventually became this story.
> 
> Until then, thanks for reading and let me know what you think.
> 
> <3


End file.
